I Will Be There
by The Silver Feathered Raven
Summary: Captured, brought before Voldemort, tortured. Hermione finds herself caught in a position where saving herself may cost the lives of others. And the only one who may be able to help her has changed so much that he is barely recognizable as himself.
1. Blood in the Street

A/N: Well, here we have my new story, or at least the first chapter of it. I'm taking a step away from Lord of the Rings in this one (though not abandoning my other stories), and trying Harry Potter. Don't expect a happy little story. This takes place after the events of HBP and I am trying to continue with the same sort of mood, though it may become very, very dark.

Disclaimer: The characters and events of the Harry Potter series do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling.

Enjoy.

* * *

"_Well be there, Harry," said Ron._

"_What?"_

"_At your aunt and uncle's house," said Ron. "And then we'll go with you wherever you're going."_

"_No—" said Harry quickly; he had not counted on this, he had meant them to understand that he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone._

"_You said to us once before," said Hermione quietly, "that there was a time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"_

"_We're with you whatever happens."_

- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, page 651

by J.K. Rowling

* * *

Chapter 1: Blood in the Street

They were still there, no more than ten feet behind him, trudging along through the mud, wands held in their cold, white hands. He had his wand out as well, griping it with frigid fingers.

"_Lumos,_" he muttered, a thin beam of light emitting from the tip of the wand. Behind him he heard them follow suit.

The light showed little that they didn't already know would be there. The wet and icy road, mud churned up by the feet of horses and people. The freezing rain, caught in the light as it fell to the ground. The black forms of trees to either side of them.

"Harry. Look." Hermione's voice was quite, strained, barely reaching his ears. He turned his head, seeing her pointing at something, the waning light from her wand illuminating it.

Two thoughts came to him at the same time. That is a body, was the first. That chilled his blood, knowing that he was seeing again something that he had seen far too often. The second scared him even more.

Why was the light from Hermione's wand going out?

Even as the question formed itself in his mind, the light flickered and then extinguished. He heard Ron's voice a moment later.

"Hermione? Are you all right?"

He saw Hermione lean towards Ron, her lips moving as she spoke. As she finished, Ron wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Harry, we have to get out of the rain! She's freezing!"

As he walked closer to them, closer to where the body lay, he heard her say that she was fine, to stop worrying about her.

That was a lie. He knew that. None of them were 'fine'. He doubted that they would ever really be fine again.

It seemed like years, but really it had only months, since they had outlined their plans to Lupin and Moody. Since they had bid good-bye to their friends and families and left. He remembered what he had told Ron and Hermione shortly before their journey had begun. He remembered every word.

"_I have no idea who R.A.B is. But I know that he found the Horcrux that was the cave, and claims that he was going to destroy it. Whether he did or not, that is another matter entirely._

"_Two of the Horcruxes are gone; the book and the ring. We know where two more pieces of his soul are; one in Nagini, who is with Voldemort, and the other is Voldemort himself. Then there are the other two, the cup and something else. Damn it!" _He had kicked the wall at this point, in a sudden bout of anger. _"I have no idea where two of these cursed things are!"_

"_Harry, calm down. We will help you. We will see this through with you,"_ Hermione had said, setting a hand on his shoulder. _"Never doubt that."_

And then they had left. He had said goodbye to Ginny, had told the Weasley's to be careful. To make sure that they were all still alive when he returned. Then the three friends set out, first to Godric's Hollow, then to his parent's graves. And from there…

They had to make sure to avoid Voldemort. To keep away from the Death Eaters. No one else knew precisely why they had left and he intended to keep it that way. Voldemort must never know about what they were planning to do. If he ever found out, it could mean the end of everything.

Things might have been all right, he supposed, it the weather wasn't so awful. It had turned cold early in the year, colder than it should have been. The rain froze. Plants died, frosted over. The roads that were paved became treacherous to any travel, and not just because they had thin layers of ice over them. No, they had become dangerous because there was a very high chance that if you were to leave your home you would never return. That a Death Eater could come around the corner and blast you to pieces. And that was just the best fate that one could hope for. To die instantly.

He stepped forward, past his two friends, towards the body. He saw that there was a puddle of blood congealing around it, freezing and mixing with the mud. The person was sprawled, one arm outstretched above the head, hand opened in an almost pleading gesture. He knelt and turned the body over. A woman.

She was not dressed to be outside on a night like this. In fact, she had no shoes on her feet. And those feet were covered in mud and blood, torn into an unrecognizable mess. Her stomach was cut, spilling her entrails onto the ground. Her back was slashed as well. It would have taken her some time to die, as the blood seeped out of her body. And if she had had no strength left at all, then she would have drowned in the mud that covered her face.

He felt sick. So incredibly sick.

And then he saw the way that she had fallen and pieced it all together. She had been running. From her home, most likely. He set his fingers on her arm, feeling that she was cold. That she had not died recently, though certainly within the last few days. There may be a chance that there weren't any Death Eaters left in wherever she had come from.

For he knew that it was Death Eaters, servants of Voldemort, that had killed her. He had seen enough of their victims to know that. Yes, they could kill without blood. Yes, they could kill instantly. But they preferred the blood. They preferred killing their victims slowly, hearing them plead for mercy. Watch the crimson blood stain the ground.

He swallowed hard, fighting not to vomit. He turned, looking to his friends. Hermione had her face hidden in Ron's chest, determinedly not looking at the body. Or maybe she was just tired.

"Hermione," he said, walking up to them, wiping his bloodstained hands on his cloak, "can you walk?"

She turned her head, glaring at him. "Of course I can walk. I'm just cold." And tired, but she didn't say that.

"Here, take my cloak." He swept it off his shoulders and handed it to her.

"Harry, no!" She tried to give it back to him. "You'll freeze."

"Keep it," he said, not taking it. "You need it more than I do. I'll be fine, Hermione. Really."

Hermione bit her lip, obviously not happy that he would now be without his cloak. But the look on her face also told him that she was grateful for the extra warmth. "What about…" She motioned towards the body as Ron pulled her closer. Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

"Dead. Several days dead. It looked like she was running. I suspect that there is a village of sorts up ahead."

"We need shelter," Ron said, looking ahead into the darkness. "It's gotten far colder."

"But Ron, we don't know what we will find when we go there! She's dead; we can only guess as to what killed her," Hermione cautioned, though both of them knew what had.

"Death Eaters tend not to stay in one place long. They most likely are not still there."

"That is true, Harry," Hermione said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "But…what I mean to say it…"

"Why can't we just apparate to somewhere else?" finished Ron, hope shining on his dirty face. Hermione glared at him.

"That wasn't what I was going to say, Ron! Besides, we know that we can't do that. There's always a chance that the enemy will be at the place where we want to go! And we have to know what the place looks like first, so we may be anticipated! Haven't you been listening to me at all? And Harry said this as we—"

Ron silenced her with a quick kiss. "Fine. Fine. I've heard you. So then, to the village we go?"

He nodded. "But keep your wand out. We have no idea what we are going to find when we get there."

…

It was like nothing she had seen before. It was similar, yes, very similar to many other towns and cities that they had passed on their journey. But this was, in some way, far worse than any of them.

Hermione kept her eyes open, made sure that she saw everything. So that she had the will, the anger, to keep going. So that when they finally met a Death Eater she would have the strength to kill them.

She kept her jaw clamped shut, knowing that if she opened it she would vomit. Even with her mouth closed she still fought to keep the bile down.

It was a town, little different from her own home town, though it was smaller. There were houses and a few shops. Paved roads. And the roads were filled with blood.

Blood. She could see it everywhere, see the smears on the walls of the houses, black on white paint. She could smell it, she could almost taste it.

There were bodies as well. A few—just a few—were unscathed, devoid of any mark. But others…others seemed as though they had been literally torn apart. Some, she saw, had bullet holes in their torsos.

"The Death Eaters," she whispered. Beside her, Ron was silent, one arm around her, holding her as though she were something fragile, something that needed his protection.

"The Death Eaters didn't kill all of them," Harry said, and his voice was oddly empty. They both looked at him.

"What do you mean, Harry?" she asked, but she thought that she already knew.

"They weren't just killed by the followers of Voldemort," Harry continued, his eyes taking in everything around him. "Some of these people killed each other. I am betting that the Death Eaters used the imperious curse and turned them against one another. What is worse than that; mother killing daughter, son killing father? Voldemort and his followers are looking for power, and causing people to kill others gives them power."

Hermione couldn't help it. She turned to the side and threw up. She could hear Harry telling Ron to search for anyone alive, but to keep his wand out. Though not to stray out of sight of one another. She spat, clearing the last of the vomit from her mouth, and straightened.

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

She turned to Ron, glaring. "I wish you would stop asking me that. You know that I am not fine. None of us are fine. But you can't do anything to help me. Yes, I am cold and tired. But that isn't what is keeping me from being fine. It's this." She motioned to the silent street, empty of life save for them.

"I know, Hermione. Come on, let's help Harry see if there is anyone surviving."

She nodded. "Don't let him out of your sight."

They both knew who she meant. Harry. Before they left, Ginny had asked them only one thing.

"_Take care of Harry. I expect him to come back to me in one piece. Or at least alive."_

"_We will try, Ginny. We will."_

_But trying may not be enough,_ she thought as she saw Harry's dark form in the corner of her eye. She was worried about him; he was quieter than normal. Too quiet, in her opinion, and in the past few months she had barely heard him laugh. Though, she hadn't been laughing much either.

She turned her head, looking around, and nearly screamed when she saw movement where there had been none before.

"Ron!" He had moved quickly when he heard her squeak.

"What is it?"

Harry was there as well, his wand raised. She held up her own.

"_Lumos_."

This time the light held and she was able to see that the movement had come from where several bodies lay in the gutters of the streets. She stepped forward hesitantly, then moved quicker as she heard crying.

"On, no," she whispered, dropping to her knees next to the bodies. Or rather, three corpses and one living, breathing, girl. A little girl, no more than four, who shrank away from her as she reached out to her. "It's okay," she said softly. "We are friends. We won't hurt you." She could see tears in the girl's eyes. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe with us."

_Safe_. The little girl mouthed the word and then flung herself at Hermione, crying into her front. Hermione wrapped her arms around the girl, holding her tight.

"Harry? Ron? See if they are…" She didn't finish. Ron had already knelt and was setting his fingers to the neck of the man that she supposed was the girl's father. He shook his head and moved to the older woman. There was a boy, looking to be the same age as Harry, who looked very similar to him as well. All three were dead.

She wrapped Harry's cloak around the girl, holding her in her arms. "We need to get out of the rain, Harry. Sweetheart, where's your house? Can you show us?"

The girl pointed with a chubby little finger, then buried her head back into Hermione's chest.

"Go check it," she said, hoping the girl wasn't listening. "We don't want her to see anymore…"

Harry nodded. "I know. Come on, Ron. Hermione, can you manage her yourself?"

"Yes. Now, we really need to get out of the rain!" She stood, the girl resting on her hip.

She let the two boys enter the house first. Well, she had to correct herself. They weren't boys anymore. They were seventeen. And Harry…Harry hadn't ever really been a boy, certainly hadn't been since Dumbledore's death.

They checked the front room, then called, telling her that it was clear. She stepped through the threshold of the house, holding the girl tightly. It was cold, though it was far warmer than it was outside. They didn't turn on the lights; better not to attract any attention to the house, in case anyone was still outside.

"What's your name, little one?" she asked the girl, sitting down on a couch that had a bloodstain down the back. She hoped the girl wouldn't see it.

"'ithtabelle," she lisped, turning her face upwards.

"Christabelle?" Hermione repeated, saying the name correctly. She nodded. "Well, then, Christabelle, I am Hermione."

"'mione."

Hermione smiled. "Yes. 'mione. And that is Ron." She pointed to the redhead, who had just come back into the room.

Christabelle looked up, staring at Ron with wide eyes. "'on."

"You're 'on now, Ron," Hermione said with a smile. "Is there any food in here?"

Ron nodded. "Yes. Harry is getting us some now. So, who is this?"

"'ithtabelle."

"How old are you, Christabelle?" asked Ron, sitting down on the couch next to them. Christabelle held up three fingers. "Three? You're very big to be three. You must be at least ten!"

Christabelle gave a nervous little giggle. "No. I'm tree."

Hermione knew that they needed to take the girl's thoughts away from what she had seen happen. No one should have to have seen this, let alone a girl of only three. Later, maybe, they would ask her what happened. Later, once she was warm and they had eaten. Once Christabelle had slept. Hermione wondered how long the little girl had been outside, alone. She wondered how long the girl had sat there, crying over the still forms of her parents and sibling.

It made her feel like sobbing.

* * *

A/N2: This is a test of mine to try my hand at writing a good HP fan fiction. Please tell me what you think of this. Constructive critisism is the best thing for an author. Let me know how you felt when you finished readying. As always, pointing out mistakes is very helpful.

Thank you for reading,

Raven


	2. Waiting in Constant Fear

Chapter 2: Waiting in Constant Fear 

"Hermione."

She lifted her head from where it rested on the couch. "Yes, Harry?" she asked, her voice soft. Christabelle lay next to her, her head on Hermione's lap, her blond hair falling around her in a tangled mess.

Harry stooped and looked at the little girl. "Is she finally asleep?"

She smiled. "I am pretty sure, Harry." She gazed down at the sleeping girl, then looked up at Harry. "Did you want something?"

Harry folded his legs under him, sitting on the ground. He looked as exhausted as she felt. His hair was matted with mud, sweat, and blood. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes. He looked as though he had aged several years since they had first set out from the Weasley's home.

He sighed. "Yes. There was something, Hermione. I need to head out; check the town for any more survivors." He ran a hand through his hair, loosening some of the dried mud. It flaked off, falling to the ground. "I couldn't live with myself, Hermione, knowing that there may be a few more like her," he inclined his head towards Christabelle, "out there. Which reminds me, have you checked to make sure that she is not hurt?"

She nodded. "Just a few scratches here and there, Harry. And a bruise or two. It is surprising; it almost seems as though she was overlooked entirely."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. Look, I don't want to leave you here alone, and neither does Ron—"

"But you can't leave here alone and there is no way that we are going to leave Christabelle," finished Hermione with an odd, lopsided smile. "I know, Harry. I know. And I will be safe here. Besides, I can apparate and take Christabelle with me, if I need to. And you know that I can warn you if there is danger here." She held up her hand. Around her wrist hung a silver bracelet.

It was Harry's turn to smile. "And you can defend yourself. All right then." He rose to his feet. "Ron. We are going."

Ron, who had been in the adjacent room, poked his head around the wall. "Ah, wonderful." He walked over to where the two of them were. "Just great. And we are leaving Hermione, Harry?" His voice was laced with anger, causing Hermione to flinch.

"Keep your voice down, Ron! And I just told Harry that I can defend myself if the need be. Just go."

Ron closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine." He leaned over, catching Hermione's face in one hand. "Just be careful."

She smiled at him. "I will be." He kissed her, then moved away, following Harry out the door. Hermione watched them as they left, turning her head so that she could see them as they disappeared into the rain and fog.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," she whispered again, laying her head back and closing her eyes. It had only been a few months. Only a few months since she had left her parents, telling them that they needed to leave the country. Telling them that they needed to get away.

"_From what, Hermione?" _her father had asked, looking at her with serious eyes.

"_Haven't you been listening to the news, father?"_ she asked, her breakfast left unattended on the table. _"All those murders? All the 'accidents'?"_

"_What about them, darling?" _Her mother had been cleaning the pots and pans used for making their breakfast. _"No reason to leave the country."_

"_Mother! Father! Haven't you been listening to anything that I have been saying over the past years? About Voldemort?"_

Her mother had laughed. _"Oh, you and this Lord Voldemort! Tell me, where are these ideas coming from?"_

"_You know that I go to a school for magic, mother. What is so unbelievable about a dark wizard who wants to take over the world?"_

"_Sounds like one of those _American_ books. You haven't been reading those, have you?"_ her father had asked, looking up from the newspaper. _"And these murders…it has just been a bad year. That is all."_

"_So you think there is nothing magical about this?"_ How could she get the importance of this across to them? She had told them over and over, but them never seemed to completely believe her.

"_Isn't magic just fairies and pink clouds of smoke and the such?"_ Her mother never believed. She still thought that Hogwarts was something that Hermione's overactive imagination had cooked up. Even after the trip to Diagon Alley in her second year, her mother had never believed. She told everyone that Hermione attended a private school for the academically talented. Hermione sighed. True enough.

"_No, mother! Well, yes, there is that! But I have told you before, there is so much more! Can't you just listen to me? I told you about what happened just before school let out—"_

"_Ah, yes. That."_ Her father had set his paper down and was staring at her over the rims of his glasses. _"Hermione, every time that you come home from that—that school, you have a new story that involves you almost getting killed! If that is really true, then I—we—don't want to send you back."_

If her father had said this even a month before she would have started yelling. Demanding that he let her return to school. But now…

"_All right, father. I wasn't planning on going back, anyway. I told you where I am going already."_

"_Oh, yes," _said her mother._ "You are going to that Ronald Weasel's house—"_

"_Weasley."_

"_Of course, dear. Your boyfriend's house, right? The red-headed boy? Whatever happened to that foreign boy? Viktor, was it?"_

Hermione jerked herself out of her reverie, waking up Christabelle as she did so. The girl gave a little scream, before she realized where she was.

"'mione?"

Hermione gathered the girl up in her arms, holding her close. "Yes, Christabelle. I'm here.

"Where's 'on an Hawwy?" Hermione noticed that the girl's speech had rapidly been falling into the patterns of an even younger child. Brought on, no doubt, by the horrors that Christabelle had seen.

"Harry, Christabelle. Can you say the name correctly?"

"Hawwy."

"No, Christabelle. Harry."

"Harwy."

Hermione grinned. "Much better, Christabelle. Harry. Harry and Ron are…out." She did not know what to tell the child. That they were out searching for more survivors of the massacre? She could feel a headache coming on. "And they will be back soon, no doubt."

Christabelle had turned herself, sitting in Hermione's lap so that they were facing each other. She began to play with Hermione's long hair, twisting it in her fingers. Hermione bit back a groan. Children playing with you hair either ended with large chunks being pulled out or with the entire mass being so tangled that it would take hours to get it smooth again. Not, she thought, that it really mattered with _her_ hair. Ever since they had set out it had gone from bushy to a matted tangle.

"'mione?"

"Yes, Christabelle?" she answered softly, her eyes meeting the large blue ones of the child. Christabelle still had her fingers tangled in her hair.

"Who w—we—were they?" Hermione could tell that Christabelle was trying to make an effort to speak correctly.

"They," she responded, not wanting to tell the child this, but knowing that lies were not good in a time like this, "were called Death Eaters. They are the followers of a man named Lord Voldemort." Not that he was much of a man anymore.

"I've head that name before."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes? Where?"

"From the scary men."

"Can you tell me about the scary men, Christabelle?"

Christabelle let go of Hermione's hair. "Yeah. They were…tall. And dark. With…with white faces. They were really scary! And they hurt my momma!" Christabelle buried her face in Hermione's chest. "They were really mean an' scary!" Hermione could feel the child's tears soaking her shirt.

"It's all right, Christabelle," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around the fragile girl. "I'm here and I will protect you."

…

"Do you think she is going to be all right?" Ron asked for at least the tenth time since they had left the house. Harry sighed, though inside he felt as worried as Ron sounded.

"Yes, Ron. Hermione is as good a witch as either of us…though we are wizards, of course. She won't let any harm come to herself."

Ron rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them. It was freezing outside and even with gloves he was losing the feeling in his fingers "I'm just…just worried, Harry. I'm sure that you are worried about Ginny."

"Yeah, well…" Harry raked a hand through his hair. "Look, they both are incredibly bright. And worrying about them won't help up. Besides, would it have been any safer to bring Christabelle with us? Which reminds me, we are going to have to figure out something to do with her. She can't travel with us."

Ron was silent for a moment. "Hermione could bring her back to Mum and Dad. They could watch out for her. Hermione could probably pull of that side-along apparition thingy. Whatever it is called."

"Yet another reason, Ron, why you shouldn't be worried about her. If anything happens, she will be able to get herself out of there." I think, he added in his mind, but he didn't want to add to Ron's worry. "Look, I think I see some movement over there. Wands out."

They walked in relative darkness towards where the movement had come from. Before a house, behind a tree. A body. As they came towards it they saw that it was a man whose legs had been crushed. Mangled.

And he moved.

He was still alive.

His face was white, blood dripping down his chin. It looked as though he had bitten through his lower lip to take his mind off of the pain in his legs. He raised his head just a little, saw them, and dropped it back to the ground with a strangled moan.

"Kill me. Just kill me…"

Harry was the one who knelt beside him, Ron standing behind him. "Sir, we aren't going to hurt you."

"What are we going to do, Harry?" whispered Ron, his face white as well. "Wait, hold that thought…" He turned and was violently sick. "Sorry." He wiped his hand across his mouth. "It's just…"

"I know, Ron." Harry's eyes never left the man. "My name is Harry."

"Greg," responded the man hoarsely. "Please, can you make the pain stop?" His eyes were wide and pleading. "Please."

Harry swallowed hard. In this case, would killing him be the kind thing to do. "I—"

Greg's eyes focused on Harry, for the first time really seeing him. "Wait…you said that your name…Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Hold on, don't try to talk—" He had no experience in healing what should he—

"Harry." The man gave an empty, cold laugh that ended in a coughing fit and his face going even whiter. "That was the name. That they said. You…you're the…"

"The what?" asked Ron, unable to contain himself. "What is Harry?"

"The reason…that they…came…They said that Harry…Potter…was sure to…come." Greg screwed up his eyes, wincing in pain. "Please…the pain."

Harry held out his wand before him. "Ron…did you understand that?"

Ron nodded. "Yes, Harry. They…they know that we are here."

…

Hermione had finally moved from the couch, getting up and stretching her legs, Christabelle in tow. Actually, the real reason that she had gotten up was because Christabelle had complained that she had to go to the bathroom, but was too afraid to leave Hermione's sight.

Though it was embarrassing, Hermione waited in the bathroom with the girl. She could guess how frightened Christabelle was. How she was afraid that Hermione would disappear if she left from her eyesight.

"'mione?" Christabelle said, washing her hands at the sink. Hermione had her hoisted up so that she could reach the faucet.

"Mh-hm?"

"Can you do magic?"

Hermione gave a small start. "Why do you ask that, Christabelle?"

Christabelle shrugged, drying her hands on Hermione's travel stained cloak. "'cause I saw Harwy start a fire without a match."

Oh. That. Harry had used the lighting spell. Lumos. Not fire, but close enough.

"Yes, I can, Christabelle. So can Harry and Ron." She picked up Christabelle, carrying her back down the stairs. "I can make fire and then water to put out the fire."

"Can you make fairies?"

Hermione laughed. "I suppose that I could."

"Can you make me a fairy?"

She had anticipated this question. "No, Christabelle. Not right now. Besides, I—"

Her words were cut off as a gloved hand covered her mouth and Christabelle screamed, a shrill, piercing sound. Hermione felt an arm wind around her waist, pulling her backwards. Someone had Christabelle.

She struggled, kicking, but whoever was holding her was far taller and much stronger. Her arms were pinned to her side. She couldn't reach her wand.

She couldn't see Christabelle anymore, but she could hear her screams. She would have screamed as well, had the hand not been over mouth. Acting on instinct, she bit down. Hard. But the tough leather that made the glove prevented her from hurting her captor.

She heard laughing. Deep, harsh laughing.

"So, mudblood, think that you can hurt me?"

Hands jerked her head, twisting her so that she was looking up into the white masked face of a Death Eater.


	3. Caught By a Demon

Chapter 3: Caught By A Demon 

She would have screamed. She wanted to scream. But the Death Eater had his hand clamped firmly over her mouth.

When he turned her around, she did the only thing that she could think of. She kicked upwards, as hard as she could.

And missed as he spun her to the side and slammed her against the wall.

Christabelle was still screaming.

"So, Granger," the man said, holding her so that she could barely breath, "how do you like feeling helpless?"

Hermione was turned away from him, fighting for breath, but she knew the voice. It was different than it had been. Deeper, harsher…changed. And it scared her far more than it had ever done before.

_Malfoy?_

She struggled harder than before, stretching one of her hands down to where her wand rested in her pocket. The tip of her finger touched it. Just a little more and she would have her wand and could possibly free herself…

"Don't even think about it, Granger." His hand closed around her wrist, jerking her arm around behind her. Hermione winced in pain as her arm bent the wrong way.

"Why don't you just stun her, Draco?" came another very familiar voice. Smooth, arrogant, and chilling. But she couldn't place the voice.

"That would only spoil the fun," said Malfoy. "And don't try to get to your wand again, Mudblood." He held her tightly so that she couldn't move, reached down with his free hand and took her wand, tossing it to somebody that she couldn't see.

"Then why not bind her hands? Wouldn't that be far easier?"

She felt him nod, heard him whisper something, and then felt coarse rope twist itself around her wrists, burning her skin as it did so. She closed her eyes, trying to keep from making any sound, trying to keep the sudden pain at bay.

"Oh my, I think you've hurt her, Draco," came another, incredibly mocking voice. "We need to go. The Dark Lord will not be pleased if we tarry too long."

Malfoy picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She kicked, trying to hurt him in anyway possible.

"Didn't I tell you not to try to harm me, Granger?" he asked, almost lazily. "Must not have. _Locomoter Mortis._"

Hermione felt every muscle in her legs seize up and she found that she could not move them. Then, realizing that her mouth was unobstructed, she began to scream.

From where she hung she could see the hem of a dark robe, the flash of leather boots. "Can't you shut her up?" came a low growl, almost bestial.

"Thought you liked screams, Greyback."

She tensed at the name. Fenrir Greyback. The one who hurt Bill and Lupin and countless others. He was there, right behind Malfoy. Right where she could see him.

"Besides," continued Malfoy, "her screams will most likely draw pretty boy Potter and his Weasel sidekick."

_No,_ she thought furiously. _You won't use me to get to them! I won't scream anymore. Harry, Ron, don't come! If there is any chance that you can hear me…don't come!_ She clamped her jaw shut, silencing herself. And then she twisted her hands violently, as though trying to free them from the binding. She heard the Death Eaters laugh in their harsh way as they saw that, thinking exactly what she wanted them to think. But really…

She was trying to touch the bracelet. With enough effort, by twisting her hand so that the muscles cramped and pain shot up her arm, she was able to touch it. Then she performed a non-verbal spell and the metal heated until it was almost unbearable.

Hermione relaxed. Now they wouldn't come. They would get away. They would be safe.

She remembered, before they had left, how she had thought about the fact that they could very well run into trouble on their journey. How this very thing could happen. How Voldemort could try to use one of them to trap Harry.

And so, using the charm that she had used on the fake galleons in their fifth year, she had spelled several objects. Glasses, a watch, the bracelet. Whenever one of them was in danger, she had told them, say the incantation to turn it cold as ice. That would mean that you needed help desperately. If it turned hot…well, then it meant that coming back for that person was certain death.

_Please, remember what I said,_ she thought, her eyes still closed. _Please, please don't come for me._

"What should we do with her?"

For a moment Hermione thought that they were talking about her.

"Leave her," Malfoy said, in the new, harsh voice of his. "She is worthless to us."

"Leave her? A muggle? Can't we just kill her?"

Christabelle. They were talking about Christabelle.

Malfoy shifted Hermione on his shoulder. "What do _you_ think we should do, Mudblood? Kill her?"

She heard Christabelle's terrified scream.

"No! Don't! I swear, if you kill her—"

"You'll what, filthy little Mudblood?" the Death Eater with the smooth voice asked. "You'll kill _us_?"

She opened her eyes in time to see Fenrir move behind her, towards the direction that Christabelle's screams were still coming from. "I could just…just let me—"

"Fenrir. Look at the Mudblood."

Hermione had been struggling, trying to get loose. Trying to get to Christabelle.

"The Mudblood obviously doesn't want to see the muggle hurt. Could be very useful to us."

It was Malfoy's voice and it chilled her to the bone. _No, they have to let her go…_

Christabelle's screams cut off abruptly and Hermione could not tell if she had simply been silenced or if she were dead. But with her legs still frozen there was no way that she could move.

"Take her with us, then," said Fenrir, his voice very low, very dangerous. "But let me just—"

"If you do that, she will be worthless to us, Greyback," said the smooth voice. "Ah, look. The Mudblood's trying to get away again. Couldn't you just stun her, Draco?"

"Are you bastards ready to move out yet?" came a new voice. A woman's voice. "I've searched the house. Nothing here. No Potter. But I see that you got the Mudblood."

She knew that voice. Knew that voice and hated that woman. Not as much as Harry did…

She screamed something. Hermione wasn't even sure what it was. Being around that woman again, hearing Bella Lestrange's voice, knowing that if she just had her wand she could blast that woman to bits…

"_Silencio,"_ the murderer said in an almost lazy voice. "Honestly, boy, can't you keep a simple Mudblood quiet?" Hermione tried to speak but it was as though someone had stuffed cotton into her mouth, cutting off all sound. It was a terrifying feeling.

"Time to go," called out the smooth voiced man. "Look, the Dark Lord said to get the bitch and get back to him. We've wasted enough time. I've got the brat. Let's go."

There were a few small popping sounds and then Hermione herself felt as though she were being squeezed very tightly though an incredibly small space. Side-along apparition, she thought as they erupted back into reality.

As she caught her breath she realized that they were outside; the absence of her cloak left her bare to the elements and she was instantly drenched in freezing rain. Her clothes became soaked through, adhering to her skin. Her hair became waterlogged, hanging in dripping tendrils, falling over her face. The cold water splattered her wrists, cooling the rope-burned skin. That was the only thing good about the rain.

She could only see the spin of green and brown as they Death Eaters hurried along. Her stomach lurched and she struggled with a wave of pain and nausea. Jaw clenched, she fought to keep the bile down.

They were on a path of some sort; she could tell that from her position. The rain had long ago turned the dirt to mud and she could see that it was splashing up onto the hem of Malfoy's robes with every step he took. And occasionally into her face, into her eyes, causing them to smart.

Christabelle was still silent and Hermione craned her neck, trying to see where the girl was. There. They had stupefied her, by the looks of it, her body limp in the arms of one of the taller Death Eaters. Not Bella; that woman was walking to the side, her wand held at the ready. The white mask hid her features but from the way that the rain had plastered her robes to her body there was no doubt that it was she. The only women of the four who had captured her.

Was it Fenrir who held Christabelle? Hermione wasn't sure and she hoped that it wasn't. Christabelle…if anything happened to the child, Hermione wasn't sure if she could live with herself.

Why hadn't she been able to get her wand out fast enough? Why hadn't she been able to sense that there was someone else in the house? Harry and Ron, why had she agreed to stay behind, alone. Why had she assured them that she would be fine?

And why hadn't she been able to apparate from Malfoy's grasp?

She knew the answer to that question. It was insanely simple. She had been so tired, so cold, so…so fatigued and worn out that her powers had been on the fritz. If she had tried to apparate she could have ended up in an incredibly bad situation.

Not that it would have been worse than this…

She could do it now, try to get away. But there was no way to get Christabelle out of this mess. And she wouldn't leave that little girl. There was no way that she would leave the child to be tortured and eventually killed by Voldemort.

Or not Voldemort. One of the others; the child wasn't important enough to be killed by Voldemort. She wondered for a moment, which would be worse: death, or the bite of Fenrir Greyback?

The rain was gone, she realized with a start. They were inside. Without warning, Malfoy dropped her to the ground. With her hands bound and her legs frozen, she fell on the hard ground—cement, by the feel of it—and bruised her body, knocking her head hard, scraping her arms and cheek. Blood dripped into her mouth, making her gag. She finally lost control of her stomach and vomited.

"Watch it, Mudblood. Don't get that filth on my robes."

She looked up and glared at the Death Eater that had spoken. Malfoy, and it had sounded much more like the boy that had taunted her through all of her Hogwarts than it had a moment before. She would have said something but her vocal chords were still unmoving.

She slumped backwards against a rough wall, taking the opportunity to look at her surroundings. They were in a relatively large room with a stone floor, cracks spreading out from the center as though something had been dropped onto it from a great height. There were two doors on opposing walls and one large window whose glass was covered in a layer of grim. A torch hung on the wall beside each of the doors, casting an orange glow over the room.

Christabelle was beside her, still unconscious. For that, Hermione was very glad. The poor child had been through too much.

"Malfoy. Zabini. Stay here and watch the Mudblood." Bella Lestrange had turned on her heel, heading out towards the left most door. She had removed her hood and her mask, her dark hair hanging down her back and swaying as she sauntered away. Fenrir followed after her, casting one last look towards them as he did so, walking with his back hunched slightly over in an almost feral way. Hermione shivered.

At least she knew who the last of the Death Eaters was. Blaise Zabini. It shocked her, actually, to find that two of the Death Eaters who had taken her were her same age. Why would Voldemort rely on two seventeen or eighteen year old boys?

_That's why he sent Greyback and Lestrange,_ said a small voice in her head. She guessed that that was correct.

Malfoy removed his mask and tossed it onto the ground. It skid, making a sound like nails on a chalkboard, making Hermione wonder what it was made of. Metal? Maybe. Not wood, that was for sure. He pulled off his soaked robes, throwing them to the ground.

Without his features guarded by the mask and robes she could see how different he had become much more clearly. He was taller, for one thing, and had filled out so that he was no longer a tall, thin boy. His blond hair was longer, hanging in his face, plastered to his skull from the rain. He looked much more like his father.

But his face…she was shocked to see it. She had always known Malfoy as an arrogant boy with a narrower face that gave him a slightly rodent-like quality. Or ferret-like, but that wasn't the point…

The point was that now the rodent look was gone. He had grown up, that much was for sure. But replacing the rodent look was a grim mask. It almost looked as though he were ill; his cheeks were sunken and under his eyes were dark circles. His skin was incredibly pale, his eyes looking as though an artist had taken watercolor and washed it away, leaving the barest amount of color behind.

And in comparison to the dark Blaise Zabini, he looked like a ghost. Actually, his face looked quite a bit like how Harry had described Voldemort's.

Then she realized something that made her stomach begin to churn again. She realized that she would most likely be seeing Lord Voldemort very shortly. And this time there was no Harry that his attention would be focused on.

…

The house was cold, no lights shining from within.

Harry and Ron sat behind a fence, waiting. There had been no sound from the house for quite a while.

"Do you think…?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Ron. We can't go in. I swear, I want to. Ever since…" He took his glasses off, closing his eyes. "Well…we can't go in. If Hermione is still there than there are Death Eaters with her. She warned us; we can't just ignore that. And if she isn't there, than there is nothing we can do at this point."

Ron hung his head. "God damn it, Harry! I don't want to leave her! I _can't_ just leave her in there! What if Voldemort gets his hands on her?" There was a note of panic in his voice. Harry sighed, fighting down his own panic.

"Then we have to find a way to get her back without getting caught ourselves. If we end up in their hands as well…than everyone is dead."

"Harry, what if they kill her?" asked Ron, looking up, his eyes wild. "What if—"

"Ron, calm down. I don't think they will kill her," said Harry, though he wasn't quite sure about that. "If they kill her then…then they have no edge over us. They _will_ keep her alive…"

What neither one wanted to add or think about was what might happen to her now that she was in Voldemort's grip.

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A/N2: Please review and tell me if you think I should up the rating on this story from 'T' to 'M'. 

Anyway, hope that you enjoyed this, and look for another update this weekend.

Raven


	4. Snakes in the Stone

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I was planning on having this out on tuesday, but...real life got in the way. Not to mention another story idea dancing around in my head for the past month that finally demanded to be put down on paper.

Anyway, here's the longest chapter yet. Hope you like it. Oh, there is a bit of bad language in here. It is also getting far, far worse for Hermione and Christabelle.

And here we go...

* * *

Chapter 4: Snakes in the Stone

She sat there in complete silence, watching every move that the two Death Eaters made. Which meant that she didn't have much to watch, as they were both simply standing there, watching her. Well, Zabini had draped himself over a chair, but that was beside the point.

Malfoy and Zabini. Death Eaters. Hermione remembered how in their sixth year Harry had tried to convince her that Malfoy had joined Voldemort's ranks. How she and Ron had refused to believe it. And now…

She still couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. Even after the attack at the school last year, even after Dumbledore's death, even after being tied up and carried to this place by Malfoy, it was hard to believe that these two boys who she had spent the last six years with were Death Eaters. Even though she had known that they were Slytherins. She just…hadn't wanted to accept that someone she knew would be…evil, for lack of a better word.

When she looked at it carefully, of course, she knew that she had missed so many obvious signs that all pointed to Malfoy being a Death Eater. Harry had seen them, but then, Harry had always been suspicious of the pale boy that stood across the room from her, watching her with veiled eyes. Overly obsessed had been one of the words that she had called him. Paranoid, even. But there was Malfoy, the black robes lying in a pile on the floor, the mask sitting beside it. She could just see the edge of the brand on his arm peeking out from under his sleeve. He was a Death Eater. It had taken her so long to finally accept that.

And Blaise Zabini. Hermione wondered why Voldemort had two wizards who were just barely accepted as adults working for him. She guessed that it was because many people might not suspect them. That and the fact that Malfoy had been in the perfect position to kill Dumbledore.

Which led her to the next question: why was Malfoy still alive? He had not done what Voldemort had asked of him. He had _not_ killed the only person that Voldemort feared. From what Hermione knew about the man, that would be grounds for Voldemort to kill him. But Malfoy was still there, still watching her.

She shivered, partially because of the fact that both boys—men—were watching her intently, but also because she was still drenched. Still in the rain soaked clothing that was sticking to her and making her colder. She wondered how Christabelle was, as the child was as wet as she was, but she could neither ask the girl or move over to her and help her. Her voice was still silenced and her legs still bound with jinx.

Despite that, she opened her mouth, trying to say something. Anything, really. No sound at all came out.

"What is it, Granger? Want to talk?"

She glared at Malfoy, clamping her mouth shut again. He gave a short, cold laugh, flicking his wand and muttering the counterjinx.

"Come on, Mudblood. What did you want to say?"

Hermione coughed, feeling as though in that action she was ridding her throat of the curse that had closed it. "I want to know what you want with me. And with _her_." She pointed to Christabelle's limp form.

"Mudblood," said Zabini, idly twirling his wand between his fingers, "I thought that you were the brightest witch in our year. Can't you figure out why we want you?"

"Fine," she growled out between grit teeth. "But what do you want with the girl?"

Malfoy locked eyes with her, giving her a very twisted smile. "What do you think? You seem to care about her. What better way to get you to do what we want?"

"You wouldn't! Malfoy, torturing a _child_? I didn't think that—"

"Shut up, Granger. As you have just proved, you do care about that child. Tell me, what would you do to keep her safe?"

Hermione kept her mouth closed. What could she say, without giving them an advantage over her? Anything could be used against her. But if she didn't say anything then she would seem cold and heartless and they might kill Christabelle anyway.

"Tell me, Malfoy," she began, speaking through clenched teeth, "when did you become a murderer?"

He stared at her for a moment with emotionless eyes, then began to laugh.

"Granger," he said, still laughing, "there is a lot you don't know about me. Now, answer my question. What would you do to keep her safe?" She remained silent. "Tell me, Mudblood. _Imperio_."

It was one of the oddest sensations, one that she had felt before, one that she had never wanted to feel again. Like she was floating, detached from her body. Like she had lost control over her actions.

_Tell me_. The words echoed through her mind and she felt her mouth open. She could tell him, would tell him. Had to tell him.

_Harry could fight this_, the one corner of her mind that was still her own thought. _But I'm not Harry. I should tell him what he wants to know. It couldn't hurt._

_Tell me, Granger, what would you do to keep this child safe?_

And interesting question. What would she do? She felt her mouth moving and heard, as though from a great distance, herself say, "I would…" And then she stopped, considering what to say. The corner of her mind was still detached, still not part of her, but it was there. It was the most control she had over herself, the ability to stop her words so that she could think.

_Maybe that's what Harry did, _she thought, still trying to think of what to say. _Maybe Harry still had a bit of control over himself. I couldn't throw this off before, when Professor Moody used the Imperious curse on me. But then, I didn't have this little voice then, did I? Maybe I just need to have something that I really don't want to do. Maybe—_

_Tell me. Damn you, Granger, I told you to **tell me!**_

"I would try to save her from you," said Hermione, her mouth moving of its own accord. "I would try to save her, but I would not if there were too much at stake." It was cruel, she knew that, but it was what she really thought. However much she would like to save Christabelle, if it meant betraying those that she loved then she couldn't do it. She wouldn't save her.

It seemed as though answering the question made something click back together in her mind. The little bit that was still conscious of what was happening reconnected with her body and the foggy, floating feeling was gone. Now she felt sick, sick and wet and cold, with her head pounding.

Zabini and Malfoy didn't seem to notice that there was anything different about her. They couldn't tell that she was no longer under the Imperious curse.

_That gives me an advantage, doesn't it? It means that I know something that none of them know._

"So, Granger, the child is practically worthless, isn't it?" said Zabini, crouching next to Christabelle's limp form and turning her over. "We could kill her now if we wanted."

"We could, Blaise," said Malfoy, still watching Hermione carefully, "but who knows what the Dark Lord has in store for her? We don't want to do anything to anger him. So leave the girl be."

Zabini stood. "You're probably right, Draco. But still, I wonder if the Mudblood was being entirely truthful. Well? Was that the truth, Mudblood?"

The question was directed towards her and Hermione figured that she still needed to act as though she were under the curse.

"Yes, it was," she said in a blank tone similar to how she had spoken before. They seemed satisfied with that, for Malfoy lifted the curse (or thought he did, at least). Her head continued to throb and she doubled over, clutching it.

Cold, wet, her head pounding, and now she realized that she was starving. Wonderful. How much longer, she wondered, was she going to be here?

_Harry won't come and get you, Hermione. He doesn't know where you are and he _has_ to realize that this is a trap. If he comes to get you then he is dead. You can't let him do that. He's too important. And you aren't._

Which was the truth. She was absolutely no one compared to Harry. He had to have figured out what would happen if he came to get her. If he didn't and came for her anyway, then everyone would most likely die.

She still had the bracelet around her wrist. It was a good thing that it couldn't be used to track where she was. Now that she thought about it, it was an excellent thing. She remembered how Ron had asked about that, when she had made the three objects.

"_So it just tells if one of the others is in danger or not? That's a little useless, Hermione."_

"_No, it isn't,"_ she had said, crossing her arms and glaring at him. _"Besides, _you_ couldn't make anything like this, could you? And if it were able to track where one of the other people were, well, couldn't that backfire, Ron? What if someone else gets hold of one of these things? Huh? Did you think of that?"_

"_Hermione, I just meant that it could do a lot more stuff than this…"_

It was a good thing she hadn't listened to Ron and made the objects so that they could function in other ways. They were simple, unobtrusive, and easily worn. And for her, the bracelet had served its purpose. They knew that she was in danger, that she had been caught. But they wouldn't be able to find her.

She was terrified, though, about being caught. Shaken to her very core. They had her wand and could kill her in an instant. Even through she was fairly certain that they wouldn't kill her she knew that she would most likely be tortured.

And Voldemort could enter her mind. Why had Harry told them both so much of what was going on? She knew far too much, and all of it was there for Voldemort's taking.

It was a very good thing that she had a headache. Otherwise she would be thinking too much and would come up with a thousand more reasons why she was—for lack of a better word—screwed.

The door to the room opened, grating against the cracked stone of the floor. Hermione looked up at the pale, dark haired woman who stood there in the doorframe, looking at her with distaste.

"Draco. Blaise," snapped Bella Lestrange. "Get the Mudblood up. The Dark Lord wants to see her. Oh, and bring the little muggle girl with you. He wants to see _both_ of them." She turned on her heels, walking back out of the room.

"Get up, Granger," growled Malfoy, grabbing her by her arm, almost pulling it loose from its socket. She ground her teeth together, biting back a cry of pain. "Blaise, get the muggle."

"You don't need to tell _me_ that, Draco." Zabini picked Christabelle up, tossing her unceremoniously over his shoulder.

"And you are going to walk, or I'll drag you the entire way."

Hermione nodded, her stomach churning just from being pulled upright. She felt incredibly sick. She took one step, unsteady on her feet. And then gave a small cry as she tumbled back to the ground.

"I said to _get up_!"

She pulled herself back to her feet, his hand like an iron clasp around her arm, hauling her after him. She stumbled often only to have him yank her along down the dark passageway.

It was a long walk. Far too longer for her. With every step she felt the nervousness and fright build in her stomach, her head pound, her shoulder throb.

Lie down and sleep, yes, that was what she wanted to do. Then wake up to find that this was all a nightmare. To find that the last three years had been a nightmare and that she was back at Hogwarts with a living, breathing Dumbledore, a nonexistent Snape, and a large collection of books. To find that no one was really dead, that they had all decided to play a prank on her. To—

Her train of thought cut off abruptly as they reached a tall set of black doors, with the shapes of two snakes crudely cut into the dark wood. Her stomach roiled, knowing what was through those doors.

Bella Lestrange was waiting there, leaning impatiently against the wall. "Took you long enough," she said in her low voice, her heavily lidded eyes watching Hermione's every move. "He's waiting."

Then she pushed the doors open and Malfoy threw Hermione inside. She heard his footsteps, along with the heavier ones of Zabini, and then the door clicked shut and everything was doused in darkness.

The force of being thrown by Malfoy had sent her skidding along the floor, scraping her knees and elbows, tearing her robes further. As quickly as she could she turned the fall into a roll, bringing herself into a crouch. The room was still dark and she could not see anything. Something cold and scaly touched her arm and she recoiled, hitting out at it with one of her arms.

There was a soft hissing sound, causing her too freeze. It was like that time, in second year, when Harry had…when he had spoken in parseltongue.

He was here. Voldemort was somewhere very close to her.

There was another word spoken in a harsh voice and the lights flickered on, torches bursting into life around the perimeter of the room. As her eyes adjusted she saw that it was a fairly empty room with no furniture other than a small table in the corner. The floor was covered in a dark, green speckled tile, the walls cleaner than those in the other room yet still quite dirty. They looked as though they had once been a creamy color; now they were covered in dirt and dust.

The doors were to her back and she glanced towards them; they were the only exit to the room. Zabini and Malfoy stood to either side of them, arms crossed, heads inclined. Then she looked to the far side of the room.

A man, dressed in long, dark robes was standing there, the great serpent twining around his legs. That was what had touched her arm only a moment ago. Nagini…one of the—

She cut off her thoughts, not knowing if he could hear her thoughts or not.

He was tall, far taller than she was, taller than Harry or Ron, and though the robes hid it well she could tell that he was painfully thin. He was facing her, watching through red, slitted eyes that reminded her of a snake's, though they were the wrong color for one. It was merely their shape, how they slanted, set deeply in his face. He had an almost nonexistent nose, flattened so that it was almost only two slits in the skin where there should have been bone and cartilage. His mouth was thin-lipped, colorless, as was his skin, a white color, paler than any other face she had ever seen, so white that she wondered for a moment if he were really real. Long dark hair fell around his face, the only thing that looked even remotely human about him. He looked like…like…

_A snake_, she thought. _He looks like a snake._

"So you have brought me the Mudblood," he said, his voice cold and harsh with an almost serpentine quality to it. "That is good, Draco Malfoy. You know the price for another failure."

There was the sound of movement behind her and Malfoy spoke. "I do, my lord. And, as I promised, I have brought her."

Voldemort gave a small smile, devoid of any emotion. "Very good, Draco. And I see that you have brought a—what is this—a muggle girl as well?"

"She was in the company of the Mudblood, my lord."

"Was she? Well, it is a good thing that you have brought her, Draco. She will be very useful, I think. Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

Hermione turned her head slightly, so that she could see the two men standing by the door. Malfoy's face was expressionless as he answered. "She may prove to be useful, my lord."

"Indeed. But she is of no importance today. Today is about Potter's whore, is it not?" He turned back to Hermione, eyes trailing over her form where she crouched on the floor.

"Yes," he said, taking a step closer to her. "The muggle-born girl who is supposed to be so _talented_. Come, tell me your name, Mudblood."

_No,_ she thought, her eyes narrowing as she kept them trained on Voldemort. _I won't. I won't._

_What is your name, Mudblood?_

The words seemed to expand in her ears. It wasn't like the Imperious curse, this felt as though he was trying to force the answer out of her, entering her mind and trying to drive it out.

_I won't. I won't. I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't, I--  
_"Hermione Granger!" The words exploded from her lips and a fresh wave of pain passed through her head. "My name is Hermione Granger!"

She heard him laughing. _Laughing_. As though what had just happened was incredibly funny.

Voldemort leaned down, grasping her chin firmly in his hands, drawing her up, holding her so that she had to stand on tiptoes to keep breathing.

"Very strong willed," he muttered as she struggled in his grip. "But it all proves useless. You are worth nothing, Hermione Granger. Any magic that you can command is _nothing_ compared to mine. Do you honestly think that you can keep anything from me?"

Before he could try to take an answer by force, she spoke. "I can try."

He laughed again, throwing his head back. "You can try. Everyone tries, darling. Every single person tries. But you won't be able to, Hermione Granger."

He released his grip on her chin, letting her drop to the ground. "Everyone tries. Even your parents, who have no magic in their blood at all."

All the blood drained out of her face. "My…my parents?"

Voldemort gave her one of his cruel, cold smiles. "Yes, Hermione Granger. Your parents."

She felt herself begin to shake uncontrollably. He had her parents. He had her parents. He had—

He knelt before her, bring his face very close to hers.

"I think," he began in his harsh voice, "that it will be very fun breaking you."

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A/N2: The only thing that I really knew I was going to put in this chapter was that last line. I wanted it to be really dark and make Hermione's plight get even worse.

Review and tell me what you think of this, if Harry and Ron should try to get Hermione back, and if you think this should be changed to a 'M' rated story.

Raven


	5. Confusion Mixed With Lightning

Chapter 5: Confusion Mixed With Lightning 

Despite her fears of all the things that could have happened after Voldemort said those words…nothing happened. He released the hold on her chin and turned to Malfoy.

"Take her to one of the guest rooms," he said, shocking Hermione with what he said next, though she could tell that there was sarcasm underscoring every word, "and treat her as a _guest_. Oh, and make sure she gets something dry to wear. We don't want her falling sick, now do we?"

Oh, there was no concern in his voice. None at all. She knew, even though he had said nothing about it, was that Voldemort wanted her alive for as long as possible.

"So…so that's it," she heard herself saying. "That's all that you're going to do to me?"

He turned to her with a twisted smile as she picked herself up off the ground. "Oh, no, my dear Hermione Granger. There will be much more. Much, _much_ more. But not now. Draco, take her away. Blaise…you may go as well, but leave the child here."

Hermione's eyes widened and she leapt towards Christabelle's inert form. "Don't you dare—what the hell are you going to do to her?"

She felt herself jerked back suddenly, before she could take more than two steps towards the girl. Someone had caught her from around the waist, holding her with her arms pinned so that all she could do was kick and twist her upper body in a futile attempt to get to Christabelle. She stilled, however, when she heard the sound of laughter coming from behind her. Harsh, cold, mechanical laughter.

"Ah, yes, Draco," she heard Voldemort say. "You do know your part here, don't you?"

"Of course, my lord," came the answer from the person who held her. Hermione screwed her eyes shut momentarily, then kicked backwards with her leg. She hit nothing, hearing only laughter.

"And Hermione Granger, you do have spirit. Now, take her away, Draco. I have no further use for her today."

As she felt Malfoy begin to move she went limp in his arms. If he had to take her away from that girl then she would make it as hard as she could for him to do it.

He dragged her out of the room, his arms in an iron grip around her waist. Zabini followed and as he turned to shut the door Hermione made one more attempt to break away from Malfoy and return to Christabelle. Luck was not on her side and the door clicked shut. She sagged in Malfoy's arms once more.

"Well?" came the smooth voice of Bella Lestrange, who was still lounging by the door. "What did he do to her?"

"It doesn't matter, Lestrange."

Hermione saw Bella straighten at those words. She looked at Malfoy, her eyes narrowed.

"So that's how you are addressing me now?" she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "Think you are so much higher than me now, do you boy?"

Hermione felt Malfoy stiffen. She guessed that he was glaring back at Bella, though she couldn't see his eyes.

"If you wish to know what went on, ask the Dark Lord yourself, _aunt_."

Bella stepped forward in a liquid movement. "Or, boy, I could ask the mudblood herself." Her wand was in her hand in a moment.

Malfoy jerked her so that she was farther away from Bella. "I would not do that, Lestrange. You wouldn't want to anger your master, now would you?"

Hermione saw Bella's face flush with anger but the wand was returned to her robes.

"Insolence, boy. You need to learn to respect your elders."

His arm still locked around her waist, Malfoy dragged her forward, away from Bella. "I will never again have any respect for you, Lestrange. Now, get out of my way."

Bella moved to the side, allowing the three of them to pass. As they did so, Hermione heard Bella call Malfoy something, though she couldn't quite make out what it was. It didn't sound very polite, from what she could hear.

"Draco, are you insane?" Zabini said as they rounded the corner to an empty hall. "She is your aunt, after all—"

Malfoy gave a barking laugh that had no humor in it. "What do you think I am, Blaise? Now, Granger, start walking or I'll curse you. I know some pretty good ones now; I could probably beat you even if you had a wand."

She began to walk, though she said nothing. Better not to fall to his level of taunting.

She still could not believe that this was Malfoy. That he had turned into someone like this, someone who didn't care if Voldemort got his hands on a young girl. Hermione shivered, wondering what was currently happening to Christabelle. She didn't want to think about it, so she tried to block it from her mind. Concentrate on her thoughts of Malfoy, even though he wasn't the ideal subject either.

He was so…so cold. Like he just didn't care about anything. She wondered what had happened to him in the months since she had last seen him. Voldemort had spared him, that much was for sure. But for what reasons, she did not know. It didn't seem like him to keep around someone who had failed him…

In the time that she had been thinking, Zabini had left them, heading somewhere else to do something else. She felt Malfoy's grip tighten again, jerking her upwards as his pace quickened.

"Hurry up, Granger," he growled, his mouth close to her ear. Then; "There are stairs here. Be careful."

And those two words, coming from his mouth, threw her off entirely. She lost her step, slipping down a few steps. Malfoy cursed as he hauled her up.

"What the hell did I just say, Granger? I told you that there were stairs!"

"I'm…sorry," she said, still stunned by his words.

_Be careful_.

What in the…what did that mean? Be careful? He had never said anything even remotely like that to her when they were still in school. And now she was pretty much his prisoner, completely at his mercy, and he was telling her to be careful?

What had happened to him?

He stopped before a door, fumbling in his pocket for something and withdrawing a small key. With a deft motion he unlocked the door, opened it, and pulled her inside. He locked the door behind them. Then he turned on her.

"I would never have thought it of you, Granger," he said nastily, releasing his hold on her, letting her stumble and fall to the ground. "You, of all people, getting caught like this."

"Well, I'm sorry if I disappointed you," she spat, pulling herself to her feet. With no one else about she felt both more confident and even more frightened than ever. "I didn't know you expected so much from me."

Malfoy crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "Oh, I didn't expect much from you, either way. But getting a child involved? I didn't think you were that stupid."

"And I didn't think that you were the type of person to—" She broke off her words.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, regarding her with cold eyes. "What were you going to say, Granger?"

She swallowed, clenching her jaw. "If you want to know, you're going to have to curse me," she said through her teeth.

Malfoy did something else then, that threw her entirely off balance. He laughed, and this time there was humor in his voice.

"So that's it. You think I'm going to curse you. Just tell me what you were going to say, Granger." His voice dropped dangerously on the last few words.

Hermione just stared at him. He was…unpredictable. Completely unpredictable. "Wha-what?"

"I'm not going to curse you, Granger."

Her eyes wide, she stared at him. What was going on? First he was cold and cruel, now he was saying he wouldn't curse her? "Bu-but you did earlier." She cursed _herself_ for the stammering in her voice.

He shrugged. "Yes. I did. But I won't now. Just tell me."

She swallowed. Hard. Then took a deep breath and spoke. "I never—I never thought you as one of those who would leave a child to the mercy of someone who would hurt her." There. She had said it. And as the words registered in Malfoy's ears his face went blank again.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Granger. A lot. And _don't_," his voice went cold again, "_ever_ think that—" His voice cut off.

"What?" she couldn't help herself from asking. "What were you going to say, just now?"

Malfoy stood up straight, turning back to the door. "There's a bathroom through that door over there. And clothing in the dresser." He opened the door and was halfway out before Hermione moved.

"Wait! What the hell did you mean? Malfoy!" The door slammed shut and she heard it click as it locked. "Damn it!" She struck the wood with her fist and slumped down to the ground.

Now she was locked in a room, more confused than ever. What was he going to say? What shouldn't she ever think? Not that she really cared about Malfoy. But she just wanted to know what was going on.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then opened them and looked around the room. It was small, dark, with a door on the left wall. The one that led to a bathroom, she reasoned. A small bed in the corner with a dusty dresser sitting beside it. And there was…

There was a window. She got to her feet, walking over to it. It was one of those large windows with a low sill, big enough for someone to sit on. Which she did, looking out at the landscape.

It was dark, partially because there was no sun yet, mostly because the clouds were still blocking out the sky, depositing rain over the countryside. There was a tree beside the window, swaying in the wind, tapping the glass with its spidery branches as it moved. Water streamed down the window, obscuring her view. As she sat there and exhaled the warmth from her breath created a patch of fog, misting the glass.

She was cold—freezing, really. But she sat there for a few more moments, watching lightning flash in the distance. She counted slowly, counted the seconds until the thunder rolled dimly.

Almost a minute. The storm was almost sixty miles away.

She rose, walking to the bathroom. There was no lock on the door, and inside she found several musty smelling towels. There was a toilet and a sink, as well as a shower. She turned on the sink, turned on the hot water and found that it actually was hot. She rinsed her hands under it, then shut off the flow. Heading back out into the main room, she looked in the dresser, pulling out a long skirt and a white blouse. Both were a bit ratty, the blouse with a black stain around the right sleeve, almost as though it had been burned. But they were dry, which was all she needed.

In the bathroom she turned on the shower, letting the water heat. Then she stripped out of her wet clothing, dropping them in a pile on the floor. She stepped into the stream of water.

Warmth suffused her body, enveloped her in it. She sighed, letting the water fall over her, washing away the events of the day.

She tried not to think as she washed her body with an old bar of soap, cleansing herself of the mud she had accumulated on herself over the past few days. Rinsing, she sat down on the bottom of the shower, letting her head rest on her knees, letting the water rain down on her head and back. And she just sat there, relaxing as best she could.

Finally, the water began to turn cold and she got out, drying herself off with one of the musty towels. She hung up all of the damp things of hers, then dressed in the new clothes.

Then, returning to the small room, she realized that she was bone weary. She barely made it to the bed before her eyes began to slip closed and she was only able to pull the covers back and fall onto the hard mattress before she was asleep.

Outside, the lightning flashed.


	6. Be Careful

A/N: I'd like to apologize for the long wait between updates. Yes, I know that a week and a half isn't _that_ long, but I'm sure that a lot of people wanted a quicker update and _I_ had wanted to get out a chapter every week. Unfortunately, this was one of those stories that I had the main idea of the plot and one of the sub-plots thought out, but none of the little details filled in. So that has been the problem with this chapter.

Actually, this is _kind of_ a filler chapter, in the way that after this, not only does the rating go up (sorry, but like one of my reviewers said, I can do more with a higher rating _plus_ the next chapters are going to be very dark) but the plot picks up and the story will start moving faster.

So, enjoy for now. This is still an important chapter. If you see any spelling/grammatical errors, please tell me what they are in your review and I will go back and fix them. Thank you.

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Chapter 6: Be Careful 

There was the sound of an opening door, the clatter of metal upon metal, and then the slam of the door closing. The click of the key in the lock. Hermione opened her eyes, closing them again as bright light assaulted them.

She rolled to the side, tangled in the light sheet that she had wrapped tightly around her during the night. The temperature had dropped and without any heat in the room she had begun to freeze. It didn't help that there were only a few sheets on the bed and all of them were light. She had gotten up in the middle of the night, walked to the bathroom, and taken the remaining dry towels, wrapping herself in them as well. One of them now lay beside the bed, thrown off as she had thrashed around in her sleep.

She opened her eyes again, blinking rapidly, allowing them to adjust to the light. The sun was out. No clouds at all today. Hermione untangled the sheet from around legs and sat upright, stretching. Through the window she could see the countryside. A few beads of water trailed down the inside of the glass and she could see that everything outside was damp. But the sun was out. That brightened her mood, as much as anything could at the moment.

Hermione turned, looking towards the door. She had heard it open; she knew someone had been in the room just moments before. As she scanned the area with her eyes she found no living person. But what she did see was a tray sitting on the ground, a bowl full of something resting on it.

Food.

She fairly leapt out of the bed, realizing how hungry she was in that instant. When was the last time that she had eaten? At the house where she had been captured, but that was so long ago…

It was a very meager breakfast, consisting of a bowl full of water porridge, a piece of stale bread, and a glass of water. But it was enough for her and it tasted as good as anything in that moment. She spooned the porridge into her mouth, careful to scrap every last morsel from the bowl. Even licking it clean at the end. Then she tore chunks of the bread and stuffed them into her mouth, chewing and swallowing hungrily. The water was lukewarm and had a very earthy taste to it, but she didn't care. It was food and drink.

When it was all gone--her stomach not full yet not empty--she retreated to the bed, sitting down and staring out the window again. She had nothing to do now. Nothing except wait until she was dragged from the room and brought before Voldemort again. So she just sat there, letting her mind drift.

Had he gotten hold of her parents? He had hinted at it, but what was the point of taking them? He couldn't have thought up some huge, elaborate trap for her and Harry, could he have?

The answer, of course, was yes. She knew that, even as her mind tried to tell her that there was no way he could have captured her parents. In fact, it had probably been very easy for him to find them.

She groaned, leaning over and hugging her legs. They hadn't listened to her, hadn't left the country. Hadn't disappeared. Hadn't believed her about Voldemort. It was sad and it hurt. But what could she do?

But if Voldemort did have them…She swallowed hard, realizing what he would most likely do. He had said that he would enjoy breaking her. That meant he would take his time with whatever he did. He wouldn't just invade her mind and take what he wanted to know. No, he was craftier. Crueler. More…twisted than the person who would do that. He would…

He would try to make her betray Harry. That was the thought in Hermione's mind and it made her shiver. He wouldn't take the information he wanted. He'd make _her_ tell _him_.

"No," she whispered and she fell over, curled up on the bed. "I won't let that happen. Harry, don't come. Don't you dare come and get me."

And while she knew that there was no way that he could hear her it felt good to say it out loud.

For a moment she wondered where he was. Where Ron was, if they were still together and if they were both all right. What they had decided to do. If they had discovered where the next horcrux was.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep from crying. She really was in trouble this time, and she didn't know how to get out. All the spellbooks in the world couldn't help her. Apparating was something that she wouldn't even try. Voldemort was not stupid enough to put her in a room where she could leave in that manner. She guess that this place was somewhat like Hogwarts in the way that it wasn't possible to apparate and disapparate inside of it. And if she had to guess even further…

There was probably some nasty little surprise waiting for her if she tried.

Of course, her mind could always be making things bigger than they were. It had happened before; during classes and exams, where she would fall to bits over one missed question. So it was always possible that she was overanalyzing, making up things that didn't exist.

She still wasn't going to try. Not until she was desperate.

She wiped at her eyes, brushing away some stray moisture. Things had gone downhill. Things were just…just falling apart.

The sound of footsteps in the hall made her jump, made her slip off the bed and land on the floor. She began to pull herself to her feet just as the doorknob twisted and the door opened.

It was Malfoy again, dressed in the black robes of a Death Eater, though he didn't have the mask on his face.

"Get up, Granger," he snapped, waiting by the door. "I haven't got all day."

Hermione locked eyes with him, glaring at him will all the strength she could. She took a deep breath, determined not to show any weakness today. She could do this.

She hoped. She really did.

With careful, measured steps she walked forward, her head held high, her eyes never leaving his. "Where are you going to take me, Malfoy?"

He looked at her with those dulled eyes, then raised his wand and flicked it. Ropes sprang from nowhere, wrapping around her wrists and binding them tightly. "Questions, Granger, are not something that will help you right now. Though I suppose there is no harm in telling you, as you will find out soon enough." He reached out and gripped her shoulder, shoving her forward. "Move."

"You didn't answer my question, Malfoy," she hissed, planting her feet so that she didn't move.

"I said to move, Granger. You are in no position to be making demands. Now, get moving or I will _make_ you move."

She turned her head, looking at him. His wand was held loosely in his right hand and it looked almost as though he were unaware of anything. Yet she could tell that he was fully alert and ready to hurt her—even kill her—in a moment.

"Fine."

He shoved her again, making her walk before him. His hand that occasionally touched her shoulder was the only guide she had and every once in a while he would push her so hard that she would stumble. When she did so, he would sneer and make some comment that would sting.

But never once did he use the word mudblood.

There was no kindness in him today. Not a single drop--unless not being called a mudblood counted. He was cold, harsh, cruel.

He brought her back to the same room that she had been in before. No one was outside of it this time and when he opened the doors and pushed her inside she found it to be completely devoid of any life. Voldemort was not there. She gave a sigh of relief, then stiffened a moment later when she heard Malfoy speak.

"He'll be here momentarily, Granger. Don't get comfortable."

She turned so that she could see him, moving her fingers to that her hands didn't go numb. Which they were anyway, as the ropes were incredibly tight.

"Thank you so much for that advice," she spat. "I figure that it will help me oh-so-much." She wanted him to flinch at the tone of her voice, but he didn't. He just watched her with cold eyes. He didn't react at all.

That was a little too much for her. "What the hell happened to you, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice tense, almost mocking. "I didn't think you could ever become more of an ass than you already were."

He moved forward almost instantly, knocking her from her feet, then gripping her hair in his fist and pulling her head up so that she was forced to look straight into his eyes.

"Do _not_ judge me, Granger," he seethed and she could tell that something she had said had hit a nerve. "You know _nothing_ about me."

"And _you_ know nothing about me."

He laughed harshly. "Since when did _that_ matter, Granger? I care nothing for you. _You_ are the one questioning me. And just for the record, you would not be able to comprehend anything that I could tell you. You are nothing like me." Then he paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. He lowered his mouth to her ear and spoke so quietly that even at that small distance she could barely hear him. "And that might be a good thing, Granger. Because you might be able to withstand what is going to happen."

He released her, letting her tumble back to the ground. She lay there, stunned, as he turned and walked back to the door.

"The Dark Lord will be here momentarily, Granger," he called before he left. "Be careful."

Then he exited the room, leaving her even more confused than ever.

Malfoy had seemed almost…concerned when he spoke those that few words. And before he had gone quickly from anger to…to something else. Hermione wasn't sure what any of his words had really meant. She might be able to withstand this? Be careful? Was this even Malfoy? What had happened to the arrogant, sneering, cocky, ferret-faced boy that she had known?

There was little more time for her to think about it because the doors opened again and Voldemort swept in, his dark robes brushing the floor as he took great strides into the room.

"Well, if it isn't Hermione Granger. The mudblood. I see that Draco has already brought you here. Such a loyal boy." He appraised her with his snakelike eyes. "Now, Hermione Granger. Do you know why you are here?"

She raised her head, though she did not make eye contact. His eyes…his eyes frightened her. He was so much like a snake that it…how was it possible that he was even human? How—

"Answer me, Hermione Granger. I asked you if you know why you are here?"

She shut her eyes. "I don't know," she said through a clenched jaw.

"Is that so? Well, that is just too bad for you. Because, Hermione Granger, when you don't know something you are going to have to be punished." He paused, wand upraised. "Are you sure that you don't know?"

Hermione forced herself to look straight into his eyes. "I am absolutely positive, _Lord_ Voldemort."

She thought that she saw amusement in his eyes as he spoke again.

"_Crucio_."

Her body tensed, anticipating the pain. But as with anything, what is expected is not what really happens.

And, unfortunately, she was not able to escape to the blackness of unconsciousness.

There was only pain.

…

Draco Malfoy waited outside of the doors. He was in charge of the girl; it was his responsibility to wait here until Lord Voldemort had finished with her. Then he would take whatever was left of her back to her room and leave her there until the next time that the Dark Lord called for her.

Watching Draco, one would almost think that he was carved out of stone. His face was blank, his feature not moving even as the screams started, muffled slightly by the heavy doors and the walls.

Screams of pain no longer meant anything to him. There was little that could get through to him, little that could elicit any response from him. And screams of a muggle-born witch were not one of them.

He was used to the screams by now. Even though it had only been several months since he had fully joined Lord Voldemort he had seen and done enough things that, in his mind, it was all the same.

Something got through to him, every once in a while. And when they did he would feel some of their pain himself, though he would never show it. It could hurt him to do something, but he would still do it if Lord Voldemort ordered him to.

A few months. So much could happen within a few months. And so much _had_ happened.

The screams from the room cut off abruptly, stopping only for a minute or two. He could hear the sound of voices, the lower one of his master and the higher pitched one of the girl, but he couldn't make out their words.

Then the screams started again.

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A/N2: I know, I know. It's pretty short. The next one will be longer. Questions, comments, and constructive critisism are all welcome. 

Until next time,

Raven


	7. Connection

A/N: Okay, so it's been two weeks. Sorry about that. I've just got so much to write that this story kind of got pushed to the back burner. But don't worry! I'm not going to abandon it. And after Sunday I won't have one of my other stories to write on ('cause it will be done!), to there will be more time for me to work on this.

Anyway, I decided not to up the rating. Yet. Maybe in a few chapters, but I don't have any content that would be an 'M' rating (yet).

Thank you's to all of my reviewers! I really appreciate the feed back. There were a few questions, so I'll try to answer them...

**cutehelenjames**- They might. This story is mostly going to be told from Hermione's point of view, but I will be sticking in a few things from Harry and Ron's side in one of the next to chapters.

**TurboTwistedFire**- Thank you for catching that error! I've gone back and fixed it. Also, to answer some of your questions...I think I will have Severus Snape show up, but as for Narcissan and Lucius...maybe. Possibly.

**Zahrah**- Glad you like the story. On, and not planning on making it rape or smutty. This story is more about Hermione's ordeal and, of course, what happened to Draco than anything else.

**urges- **Thank you for the compliment! And I am glad that you liked that last part; that was the effect I was going for.

Once again, thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!

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Chapter 7: Connection 

Hermione was barely conscious as when Voldemort left. Her body lay on the ground, her eyes half closed, breathing hard. She was still wracked with pain, but lying there, curled up in a ball, was the only thing that she could do to try and stop it.

She hadn't told him anything. And that was the thought that kept her from losing it entirely. She hadn't told him what they were doing. She hadn't…all she had done was scream. Scream, beg, cry. But that was all.

Voldemort hadn't been pleased, of course. And yet…and yet he had seemed very amused as he walked out of the room. Amused for some reason that Hermione could not fathom, most likely because her mind was occupied entirely with the pain in her body.

She heard footsteps that stopped as they came to a point next to her. Then she felt herself being lifted and she whimpered, the movement causing her body to alight with pain as though she had been submerged in fire. Someone was holding her—carrying her—and walking.

Her head throbbed and the fact that she was now moving didn't help. Not at all. But she closed her eyes tight, clenched her hands into fists, and tried to ignore all the feeling in her body.

She would have preferred it if she had passed into unconsciousness. Then she wouldn't have to deal with any of this. She'd just have…nothing. She would feel nothing, see nothing. For a little while she wouldn't be in this mess.

Whoever was holding her was walking faster now, jostling her. A corner of her mind told her that she was being taken up a flight of stairs. Every so often the person would pause, as though she were too heavy to be carried. Then they would start again and her head would pound.

She wanted to pass out. Faint. Just…let go. But for some reason she couldn't. She just couldn't fall into unconsciousness. Something wouldn't let her.

Another pause in the person's steps and she heard the creaking of a door as it opened. Then she felt herself being set down, felt a blanket being pulled over her body.

Her eyes flickered open as the door shut again and she didn't see who had carried her.

…

When she woke in the morning her head ached fiercely, aided by the bright sunlight that streamed into the room. At least, she thought it was morning. Whatever time it was…she was just unhappy to be awake. Because all the pain come back. Except it wasn't as prominent, it didn't hurt as much.

But it still hurt. It still hurt more than she wanted it to.

She sat up, ignoring the throbbing in her head. She still wore the clothing that she had the day before, though it was crumpled from having been slept in, stained with sweat from the ordeal she had been through. She didn't like it, but she didn't think that she could move enough to change.

There was a tray of food sitting by the door, just as it had been the day before. Slowly, she moved from the bed to it, each movement labored, sending pain through her arms and legs. When she finally made it to the food she nearly collapsed, only keeping herself from falling completely to the ground by one braced arm. Then it wavered and gave out, sending her sprawling on the floor, arms and legs splayed, knocking over the glass of—water? Had it really been water? —that was on tray. She gave a small cry, felt tears come to her eyes.

With enormous effort she reached out a hand, taking hold of the bowl of porridge and pulling it towards her. The other hand went for the spoon and she brought both of them towards herself. The food was cold, but she ate it all the same, though each movement, every bite, every time she swallowed caused her to wince.

She felt so…so weak. So helpless.

_Harry…_ She hated to admit it, but she wanted him to come for her. She wanted him and Ron to find her, to get her away from this. It was selfish, and she knew it, but she wanted to escape. She wanted them to take her away. _Ron…_

She wanted them to find her. If only there was some way for them to get to her without coming near, without being detected by Voldemort. If only…

She sniffed, tears coming to her eyes. She fell back to the floor, pushing the bowl and tray and spoon and glass away from her, resting her head on the ground. One hand covered her eyes as she cried, though she remained silent. It was only tears.

She lay on her stomach, crying until she heard footsteps outside of the room. She went cold and felt instantly sick to her stomach. Her tears stopped and as the door opened again the only thing that remained to show that she had been crying was the redness of her eyes.

The door closed and Malfoy knelt beside her. "Granger."

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice hoarse. She swallowed hard and spoke again. "Going to take me back down there, Malfoy?"

Malfoy was silent for a moment, then stood up. She remained there on the ground, didn't see where he went. But she heard the sound of running water. And then he came back.

"You need to get up," he said gruffly, crouching down next to her again.

She gave a small laugh that came out as more of a cough. "Oh, I do? That's nice." She closed her eyes again.

Next thing she knew he had scooped her up in his arms and had carried to the—what? The bathroom? And then he dropped her into the tub, into ice cold water.

Her head went under the water and she inadvertently inhaled, then came up coughing and spluttering. "What the—" she coughed violently, expelling water, "—hell was that for, Malfoy?" She glared up at him through tendrils of dripping hair.

Malfoy draped his arms over the side of the tub, helping her to remain in an upright position. "I told you that you needed to wake up, Granger. This is the most effective way to accomplish that."

"Oh, so no magic?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Doesn't work as well as freezing water. Besides, you've had too much magic used on you today as it is."

Hermione let her head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. "So that was all today?"

"Yes. And you need not worry, Granger. I'm not taking you back there. Yet. The Dark Lord will only see you once a day."

She glanced over at him. Damn, the water was cold! But she was getting used to it. And she had to admit, it had woken her up completely. Not that it had taken away the pain, but it had brought her back more use of her body. "That's comforting. So, then, why are you here?"

He was silent for a moment, his eyes locked with hers. "Because I wanted t-to make sure that you were all right."

She frowned. "Draco Malfoy, concerned about me? Has the world stopped spinning or something?"

Malfoy's mouth twisted and he stood up. "Glad to see you can keep that _extremely entertaining _wit about you, even after being tortured. Can't you be pleasant for even a minute, Granger?"

Hermione laughed. "Oh, that's rich. That's just perfect. _You_ are telling _me_ that I can't be pleasant? Since when have _you_ ever been pleasant to _me_?" He said nothing. "Hypocrite."

"Shut up, Granger," she heard him growl, though his back was still to her and she couldn't see his face. "Shut the hell up. You know—"

"Nothing," she finished for him. "You've said that before." She stood up, wincing slightly as she did so. "Now, are you going to give me a towel or are you just going to let me freeze?"

He grabbed the remaining towel from the rack and threw it at her. "There. You want a towel? Take it!"

Hermione clutched the towel to her chest. She needed to change clothes, but not with Malfoy there. "Um…"

"What?"

Hermione flinched, knowing that she had screwed up. For a moment, Malfoy had acted human, had not been the cold, emotionless person that she had seen the past few days. And she'd screwed that up so badly… "Um…" She sidestepped him, grabbing her clothes from where she had hung them before, the clothes that she had been traveling. "Is there any chance that you could…leave the bathroom? So I can change?"

He didn't speak, just left.

Hermione closed the door behind her, keeping her back as firmly against it as she could while she stripped off the sodden shirt and skirt. There was no lock on the bathroom door, and she didn't want to give him the chance to open it. She doubted that he would, but one never knows…

She pulled on her old clothes, her stained pair of jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and a sweater, and then hung up her wet clothes. She felt uncomfortable; her undergarments were soaked and she didn't want to leave them on under the dry clothing. So they were hung up as well.

Then she opened the door. Malfoy was still there, waiting for her. She crossed her arms over her chest, thoroughly self-conscious. And to top it all off, her headache wasn't going away.

"Well? Did you want something?"

Malfoy inclined his head. "Yes. You've been wanting to know what happened to Christabelle, haven't you?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment. She had almost forgotten about the girl in the past day. "Y-yeah," she finally said. "But what—?"

"I can take you to her. You are allowed to be out of this room, as long as there is someone with you. As I constitute as 'someone,' I can take you to where she is being kept."

Hermione's mouth dropped open slightly. "Y-you'd do that? Let me see her?" He nodded. "That's…I didn't expect you to…"

"You don't know a lot about me, Granger."

She frowned again, her arms still crossed over her chest. "And…can you just answer this for me, Malfoy? Why are you calling me Granger?"

"Because 'Hermione' is to personal and you are _not_ my friend, so I see no reason to—"

"No," she cut in, "not that. Why haven't you been calling me 'mudblood?'"

He was silent for a moment. "Do you want to see Christabelle or not?"

"Yes. But I also want you to answer my question."

"Another time," he said, and his tone told her that there was no way that he was going to answer at the moment. "Now, come." He reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

"Hey!" His grip on her arm hurt and she was sure that she would have a bruise there. "Could you not—"

"Look, I can't chance you running off."

Hermione kept one arm crossed over her chest. "You didn't let me finish. I was _going_ to ask if you could not hold my arm so tightly, but I suppose that doesn't really matter, since you seem to think you are a mind reader."

Malfoy gave a short laugh as he opened the door. "No, Granger. I'm no mind reader. Didn't bother to take Divination."

"Good thing you didn't. It was a terrible class." Hermione quickened her steps to match his gait, so that she wasn't being dragged along. "A load of crap."

"Oh, you took it?"

She nodded. This walking—really, it was more of a run—was _not_ helping her head. "Walked out of it before third year ended."

Malfoy stopped. "_You_ walked out of a class? As in, actually quit the class?" She nodded again. "That seems pretty uncharacteristic for you."

"And it seems uncharacteristic for you to give a damn about me, but you actually seem to be _slightly_ concerned. Life's full of surprises." She wasn't sure where exactly they were. They had turned several corners. They were still in a hall, that much was for sure. But—

Malfoy began to walk again and it took a moment where he was dragging her along for her to realize that they were moving again. And then it was another moment before she was able to get her footing again and actually start walking by herself.

"Please, can't you just slow down?"

He didn't answer, just stopped in front of one of the doors. Then he reached into his robes and pulled out a rusted key, inserting it into the lock and turning it. There was a faint clicking sound and then he removed the key, replacing it in his pocket.

"She's in here," he said, turning the doorknob and pushing it open. He pushed her inside, releasing her arm, locking the door behind them.

It was a room not unlike her own, though smaller, with a tiny, grimy window. The blankets on the bed were ruffled, and a small figure was sitting there, covered almost entirely with a sheet.

"Christabelle?" Hermione called out softly, and the figure stirred, turning around.

" 'mione?" She saw the small mouth say the word. "Izzat you?"

Hermione nodded. The little girl smiled, jumping off the bed and ran to her, the sheet trailing behind her, and wrapped her arms around Hermione's waist. "Hello, Christabelle." She shot a glance at Malfoy, who was standing by the door.

"He hasn't done anything to her," he said shortly, and Hermione gave a sigh of relief. From somewhere near her stomach, came Christabelle's voice.

"Is 'at Dwaco?"

Hermione gave a start, but answered all the same. "Yes, that is."

Christabelle looked around Hermione. "Hi, Dwaco."

Hermione looked back at him again and saw him give the girl a warm smile. "Hello, Christabelle."

The girl released Hermione and walked over to Malfoy, hugging him in a similar manner. And to Hermione's amazement, he hugged her back.

"I'm not as cruel as you think me to be," he said, seeing her watching him. "Just as I am in charge of taking you from place, so am I in charge of Christabelle. I'm one of the onlypeople that she has seen since both of you were taken, just as you have—okay, admittedly _you_ have seen far more than she has seen."

"Hm." Hermione thought that there was more to it than that, but Christabelle had taken to _her_ quickly, so it was also possible that she had attached herself to Malfoy in a similar way, hard as that was to believe. "I suppose I believe you."

" 'm glad you awe here, 'mione," piped up Christabelle. "I been sooo bored. There's nothing to do."

Hermione reached over and ruffled the girl's hair. "I'm glad to see you to, Christabelle. But I'm afraid that I can't stay long." She looked up at Malfoy and he nodded. "I have…other things to do. Understand?"

Christabelle nodded. "I understand. Bu' can you come back sometime?"

She smiled down at the girl. "I will try."

"And that said, Granger, I'm going to need to take you back now," came Malfoy's harsh voice.

"Wha—?"

"Hermione needs to go now, Christabelle. Do you understand that?" Christabelle nodded and hugged Malfoy again. Malfoy patted her on the head. "Now, say good bye."

As Christabelle hugged her, Hermione began to wonder how this girl could make Malfoy's demeanor change so drastically. _What…_

She left the room with Malfoy, casting one last look at the forlorn looking girl. "Good bye, Christabelle."

The door was locked shut.

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A/N2: All right, you know the drill. Errors, questions, and comments. Oh, and I wasn't sure if Malfoy had been in Divination or not. I checked book 3 and couldn't find mention of him being in there, but I didn't check thoroughly. If you know otherwise, please tell me. 

Anyway, hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

Raven


	8. Hopefully

A/N: I am sorry about the long time between updates! These past two or so weeks have just sorta flown by...and there has been a ton of real life to get in the way of writing.

Anyway, I am planning for the plot to really start picking up after this. You get a little bit of what happened to Draco in this chapter...and that is a big part of the story. I don't know when I will reveal entirely what happened, but you will find out at some point (I have an odd habit of referring to events and never actually telling what happened. Well, you will find this out).

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Chapter 8: Hopefully

It was strange. It was so, so strange how that little girl brought out the softer side of Draco Malfoy. How one word from her could make him almost smile. How one minute he would be like that, and the next he would revert to his harsh, cold way of acting. Christabelle, that girl who couldn't pronounce her r's, who seemed to be almost younger than she really was, could make Draco Malfoy almost seem _human_.

The door was locked as they left. For a moment, she wondered why all the locks she had seen so far used keys, rather than magic. However, she didn't have time to ponder this.

Malfoy had one hand on her wrist as he closed the door, though his grip was not a tight as it had been. A slight amount of trust? She doubted it. More likely a trap. The moment she moved she'd be hit by some curse, and then locked up so securely that she wouldn't have any chance of escape.

And escape was what she wanted. It would have been so much easier, were Christabelle not with her. Despite the fact that they were not related in any way, she would not—no, she _could_ not—leave a child in Voldemort's grasp.

_He would probably hurt her if I ran. I could gamble against it and run, hoping that Christabelle would be safe…but I am not willing to take that risk. As it is, he has not hurt her, has not touched her. For my safety…I won't sacrifice hers. That would make me as bad as he._

"Granger. Come on."

Her eyes snapped to Malfoy and her feet hurried to catch up to him. "Can't you warn me before you start walking, Malfoy? I'm getting sick of having to run!"

He didn't slow down his pace. "I did warn you, Granger. And isn't running behind me better than being tortured by the Dark Lord?"

She swallowed, taking one large step that allowed her enough space to catch up to him. "I suppose so. However, it would be nice if you would slow down. Just a little, that's all."

"Well, well, well. My nephew, taking his pet mudblood out on a walk. It's just so cute, I could vomit."

Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously in the dimly lit hall and he halted in his tracks. "Hello, _aunt_."

Bella Lestrange stepped out before them. She had been lounging in an open doorway, white light filtering through and casting eerie shadows upon the walls. Her eyes were almost closed, though not in a way that implied tiredness. It was more of a slanted, alert look, as though she was concentrating with all her might. Her eyes were contrasted by her mouth, which was twisted in lazy smile. There was another in the doorway as well, a figure with the slightest hunch to his back, and a feral looking face.

"Greyback," Malfoy said, never missing a beat as the werewolf came into view.

"Draco Malfoy." He inclined his head slightly. "It is…good to see you."

Bella tossed her dark hair, stepping forward so that she was within a foot of her nephew. "Does the Dark Lord know that you have the mudblood out of her room?"

"She's harmless, Lestrange. She has no wand in her possession."

"You didn't answer my question, Malfoy," she almost hissed. Behind her, Greyback leaned against the wall, watching the exchange with interest. "Does the Dark Lord know?"

There was a moment of silence, where the two relatives stood facing each other, eyes locked. One might think that Malfoy's hesitation meant that no, Voldemort didn't know, but taken in context…it was more of a power struggle. Aunt versus nephew. If he answered, Hermione supposed that it could be considered a win on Bella Lestrange's part, though none of this quite made sense to her. Hadn't she once heard something about this woman being Malfoy's favorite aunt? Or was it the other way around? Or had she even heard it at all? The feeling of confusion had become normal for her, and so she simply pushed them aside. She would think more on them later.

"He took her to see the girl."

Hermione's eyes flew wide open as she heard Greyback's words. What--?

"That poor little girl," Greyback continued, moving forward, one hand reaching out and brushing through Hermione's hair. She wanted to shrink away from him, but she remained still, though her eyes must have conveyed all of her fear, for he laughed deep in his throat. "Yes, I can smell her on you. On you both." He smiled, showing white teeth that were more pointed than was normal for a human. "I'll have her sometime, you do know that."

"When my lord allows it, Fenrir. And not a moment before. Boy! Where are you going?"

Malfoy had begun to walk again, dragging Hermione along with him. A glance back showed her Bella's furious face.

"This is a waste of my time. If you think to question my loyalty to Lord Voldemort, Bella Lestrange, then I say that you obviously have forgotten just exactly how loyal I _am_ to him." He paused, and turned his head so that his eyes locked once more with those of his aunt. "I truly hope, Lestrange, that you have _not_ forgotten."

Bella's eyes narrowed even farther and her lips quirked into a sneer. "Oh, I haven't forgotten, my dear nephew. Though I do think that _that_ was self preservation, rather than showing any sort of loyalty."

Malfoy's grip tightened on Hermione's arm, and she saw him clench his teeth, his face paling slightly. "You can have your opinion, Lestrange. Think whatever the hell you want. I could care less." Then he jerked Hermione around, almost dragging her after him as he headed down the hall.

She would have said something. She really would have. But the look on her face told her that anything she said would most likely end up with her being yelled at, threatened, or cursed. So she held her tongue and simply struggled to keep up.

She was aching again, aching all over. Her headache was back, stronger than ever after the last confrontation, and she was sure that she had a fever. Vomiting…yes, she felt like vomiting, but she wouldn't. She couldn't. She—

She stumbled, one foot slipping out from under her. If it weren't for Malfoy's hold on her, she would have tumbled to the ground. As it was, she fell, her knees scraping across the cold stone, though nothing more than her legs touched the ground. He held her up, though he didn't stop and she found herself being pulled along, her arm almost being jerked from its socket. The urge to vomit grew stronger, though she still fought against it.

"Malfoy…please stop…" And to her horror, the words came out sounding like a plea. She, Hermione Granger, would _not_ plead with Draco Malfoy. She wouldn't!

At least, the Hermione from Hogwarts wouldn't. The girl who constantly had her nose in a book, the one who was taunted and teased for so many of her years, she wouldn't. But the young woman who had been tortured, who worried for Christabelle, who didn't know how much longer she would live…she would.

It frightened Hermione to no end.

But that was it. When he didn't stop and she continued to be dragged along the ground, she just let go. Let her head fall against her arm, and let her body go limp. It was all that she could do. She was sure that her body was shaking, sure that she had broken out in a cold sweat, sure that she wouldn't be able to walk, even if she wanted to. She'd held off the pain long enough, and now it was all flooding back.

"Granger." Malfoy had stopped, dropped her arm. She slumped to the ground and the only thing that kept her head from hitting the stone was that her arm hit the ground first.

"Sorry," she whispered, her eyes closed. She really wanted to sleep. Sleep, or vomit, and she wasn't sure which one she wanted more.

She thought that she heard him sigh. She opened her eyes a crack and saw that he had knelt beside her.

"Look, Granger, you need to get up."

"S-sorry. I don't think I can."

There was a moment of silence, then she felt his arms slid under her, picking her up from the ground.

"You know, I am getting very sick of having to carry you."

She managed a small smile. "Glad that I've succeeded in annoying you." The smile faded as she felt him stumble, moving her body enough that it sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. "Could you—? Never mind."

"What were you going to say, Granger?"

"It doesn't matter—wait, stop, I think I'm going to—" She turned her head away from him, feeling her stomach lurch into her throat. She coughed, then dry retched, feeling the back of her throat convulse.

Malfoy stilled as she made sure that she wouldn't actually vomit. "You all right?" he asked after a few moments.

Another unexpected thing from him. Hermione let her head fall back against his shoulder. "Yeah, just great. Wonderful." She let her eyes close, concentrating on keeping her stomach under control as he began to walk again.

"You are a pretty lousy liar, Granger."

"If you knew, why did you even ask in the first place?"

There was silence, broken only by the sound of a key being inserted into a lock, of metal scraping upon metal. Then the familiar sound of a door being opened, then closed. A moment later she found herself lying on her back on the bed.

"You had better rest, Granger," Malfoy said, standing back. "The Dark Lord won't come here, so you don't have to worry about him. For now."

"Hmm? What was that?" She was watching him carefully now, though her eyelids kept drooping, closing, then flickering open again. "Why won't he come here?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It's an old trick. Allow the person who is being tortured one place to feel safe, one place where he can't touch them. Then, take it away. But he won't do that for awhile, yet, Granger. He's going to take away everything else, first."

Her stomach lurched again, but this time it wasn't from nausea. The way he said it…it was almost like he knew exactly what was done…either he had done this to someone, or it had been done to him.

"That's…reassuring," was all she could think to say. Then she thought back to the question that she had asked him, yet he had never given her an answer to. "Hey, Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you call me 'Mudblood' anymore?"

There was another moment of silence, so long that she almost thought that he hadn't heard her. When he finally spoke, she was so close to being asleep that she, herself, barely heard.

"Because you've got enough problems right now, Granger. You've got to deal with so much, that you don't need me to call you that."

"Oh." She said it softly, though she hadn't fully understood all of his words. Then she gave in to what her body was telling her, and let herself slip off into a deep sleep.

…

He didn't leave the moment that she fell asleep. Rather, he sat down on a chair that stood in the corner, and watched her.

It was odd…finding someone like her here. Not that he was surprised about Voldemort taking her. It was something that he would do, were he in Voldemort's position. It was a smart moving, given how much of an effect she had in the life of Harry Potter. Women were so often times the weakness that a man would have. And while Draco knew that Potter was not interested in Granger in a romantic sense, he also knew that they were very close friends. Besides, that boy, Weasley, liked the girl. Between those two things, it was almost a given that Potter would come for her, either from his own feelings for her, or at his friends urgings.

Personally, he didn't really care if they came or not. Even though he hated Potter…it just wasn't important to him anymore.

What he had told Granger was true, about him no longer calling her a mudblood. She had so much to deal with that there was almost no point at demeaning her anymore. She probably wouldn't notice, or care, in any case. He gave a half smile as he thought about it. She noticed it far more when he _didn't_ call her a mudblood. Not that he really cared if she noticed him or not. Though it was nice to have someone there…

The past few months had been hard on him. So incredibly hard, and he was almost certain that he had blocked out a few of the memories. He wasn't sure, at any rate, about some of the things that had happened. But he knew most of it. Just the…details were a little sketchy in his mind. He knew everything that had happened to him, everything that he had done. At least the basics of it.

He leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out before him. He'd leave in a few moments, but it was nice to have a time where he didn't have to worry about Voldemort and Death Eaters. He had told the truth: Voldemort wouldn't come t this room, not for quite a long time. No other Death Eaters would, either. It was all part of Voldemort's method for breaking the girl. It really didn't matter that Draco had told Granger about the whole room thing. Her mind would warp eventually, so that even the knowledge of it wouldn't help her.

It was sad…in the back of his mind, he acknowledged it. That this was all happening to her. He didn't like her, didn't care much for her, but half the things that happened to anyone weren't deserved. And Hermione Granger didn't deserve this.

However…

He sat straight up as a thought hit him. This could all work out to his advantage. If he played this all correctly…he could use Granger for his own gain. He could do that…

So he sat there for quite a while longer, scheming up what he would do. He highly doubted that he could do any of it for awhile, but it didn't hurt to plan. It would help him…and it would help her. Hopefully.

* * *

A/N2: Well, hope that you liked it. I will say this: nothing in this story, not description, and none of the personalities, will shift to fit with the new movie that is out. I haven't actually seen it as of now...but I will. Eventually. To me, the books and the movies are almost separate entities. And fan fiction is something else entirely.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing,

Raven


	9. Selfish

A/N: Finally! I'm sorry about the long wait, I've just been so busy, had so much to write (I finished one of my other longer stories, so I have more time for this one now), been so stressed, and had a bad case of writer's block. But now you have the ninth chapter, and I hope that you enjoy it. It coversa fair amount of space.

Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews. I can't tell you how much I like them, and having people tell me what they like about my story. Thank you all, readers and reviewers.

And now, chapter nine...

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Chapter 9: Selfish

Morning was a headache and a sharp reminder of where she was. Hermione had been dreaming, dreaming of home and her family. It had been so peaceful, so…so wonderful, that for a moment she had forgotten that she was a prisoner here. The light, glancing in through the window, had pierced through her eyelids and woken her, knocking her out of the dream.

Her head throbbing again—her body still hadn't recovered—she opened her eyes, blinking in the brightness. Morning.

With a groan, she let her eyes close again. She didn't want to wake up. For a moment, she imagined that she was back at school, at Hogwarts. There, she had always been awakened by the chattering of the other girls. So often she would lie there, half asleep, smiling to herself as she listened to someone stressing and asking everyone for help as she scrambled to finish her homework. Hermione always had hers done the night before, thus warranting more time to sleep.

There were some times when she would wake up early and talk with the other girls. Every so often she would be included in the discussions of boys and clothes and makeup. Every so often she wouldn't be Hermione, the bookworm, but Hermione, the normal girl, who enjoyed just being a girl. Some times it would annoy her, all the petty talk.

But given where she was now…

She groaned, flipping her body over. Her face pressed into the pillow, she willed the tears back. She wouldn't cry. Not now, not…not until she was free.

Hermione wondered how long it would be before they came to take her before Voldemort. Or, rather, when _he_ would come, for Hermione had no doubt that it would be Malfoy who came to get her.

She needed a shower. And a change of clothes. Or should she wait until after…she let that thought drift away. She didn't need to think about it. She didn't _want_ to think about it, but it was always there, in the back of her mind.

_What would happen today?_

She rose from the bed, unsteady on her feet, and stumbled towards the bathroom. At least she _had_ a bathroom. It was strange, really, that he would allow her to stay in a room like this.

Then she thought back to what Malfoy had said, about how Voldemort wanted her to feel safe in this room.

_It _does_ make sense,_ she thought, turning on the tap and letting ice cold water run over her hands. _In a twisted sort of way. I suppose—well, I've never been through something like this before. I guess—_

She cut her thoughts off again as she heard the creaking of the door. Her entire body tensed, and she took a moment to splash the water on her face. They could wait, at least a few moments.

The door had no lock…but she needed to go to the bathroom…

She opened the door and looked out into the room. No one, just the usual tray of food on the ground. She gave a sigh of relief, then returned to the bathroom.

Eventually, when she had cleaned herself the best she could and used the bathroom, she sat down before the window and picked at the cold food. Porridge, water, and a hunk of bread. Same as before.

Her stomach growled, feeling distinctly empty. It reminded her that she had only been eating one meal a day, and that each meal had been just like this one. The lack of food made her feel weak, made her stomach feel as though it were caving in upon itself.

Using her fingers, she tore apart the bread, placing a chunk in her mouth. She tried to eat slowly, tried to savor each bit, but it didn't work. She was simply far too hungry and consumed the bread within minutes. She took longer to eat the porridge, drinking a few sips of water in between bits.

It still wasn't enough, she realized when she had scraped the last traces of porridge from the bottom of the bowl. It wasn't enough for her to live on. She wondered how she was going to survive, how this small amount of food that she got every day was going to support her for however long she was here.

Setting the bowl on the floor, Hermione looked out the window. The sunlight that had been there earlier was gone, vanquished by the fog that had closed in. It had become so thick that she could only see the tree directly outside of the window, and no further.

The sun hadn't been that strong when it had been out, either. Bright enough to wake her up, but no brighter. It was as if the world was reacting to Voldemort's return, turning cold and harsh, a horrible place to live.

She shivered, rubbing her hands over her arms. She hated to admit it, but she was scared, more frightened than she had ever been. There was no way for her to know what was going to happen. She worried about Ron and Harry, out there all alone, she worried about Christabelle, she worried about her friends and family who she hadn't seen since the beginning of summer. But most of all, she worried for herself. It was selfish and she knew it. Wasn't she allowed to be selfish, especially now?

Hermione hated herself for thinking like that, but it was true. At least, it was to her. After all, Ron and Harry weren't here, suffering in her place.

Still, she wanted to know where they were. She hoped that they had not decided to come after her; if they had, it just might be the one thing that would cause her to fall apart. Yes, Harry had managed to get out of all his confrontations with Voldemort, but that didn't guarantee that he would be able to rescue her and still come out of it alive. Hermione was not more important than the rest of the world. She knew that. And if Harry was stupid enough to come and get her, forsaking the rest of the world…she just might wring his neck before Voldemort ever got to him.

Well, he wasn't that stupid. Neither of them were…she hoped.

The door creaked and Hermione turned her head, looking to see who had come. Sure enough, there stood Malfoy, one hand still on the door.

"Up, Granger," he said gruffly, remaining there. "I'm sure that you know where you are going."

Hermione inclined her head, then rose to her feet. Her stomach still hurt, as did her head, but she tried not to show it. Besides, she didn't like feeling this weak, so she would try not to act as though she were helpless.

"Yes, I do." She attempted to smile, though it turned out as more of a grimace. "You've come to take me back to Voldemort."

Malfoy nodded, reaching out and tapping her wrists with the tip of his wand. Ropes sprang out of nowhere, wrapping themselves around her and binding her hands together. She winced, feeling the rope dig into her skin.

"A little tight, isn't it?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he grabbed her by her bound hands, dragging her out into the hall. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

Hermione remained silent, waiting there as he locked the door. She could have run, but she didn't feel up to it. After all, he appeared to be quite a bit faster than she was.

Then he took hold of her wrist again, pulling her along roughly as he hurried off down the hall. Hermione was used to this by now and was able to keep up, though every once in a while she would stumble. Today, however, she didn't fall, and for that she was very glad. She didn't want to rely on Malfoy any more than she had to.

There were more Death Eaters around this day, standing in hallways, walking up the stairs. Hermione felt chilled to the bone, wanting to shrink into the shadows. On a normal day…well, she had faced them several times before. If she had her hands free, had her wand, had eaten enough, she would probably not be so frightened. As it was, she was positively terrified. It didn't help that she knew she was being taken to Voldemort. It didn't help one bit.

In her selfish, selfish way, she hoped that Harry and Ron would come for her, if only to get her out of this mess.

And she hated herself for that thought.

Once again, they arrive at the doors. Once again, Malfoy threw her inside. No, wait, he didn't. He pushed her inside, a little roughly, and shut the doors behind her.

"Well. Hello again, Hermione Granger."

Hermione looked up, seeing Voldemort standing there. What could she say? She was before this person—was he even really a person?—who scared the hell out of her. What could she say… "Hello, Tom Riddle."

She saw him flinch, though she may have imagined it. It might not have been a good thing to say that. It really might not have been a good thing. After all, he was the one who controlled whether she lived or died at that point.

"Or would you rather that I call you simply Voldemort?" Damn it, she couldn't stop. She was so scared that she just…it was the only thing that she had control over. Her words.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was she, suicidal?

Voldemort stepped towards her, setting one hand under her chin and forcing her head upward. "Don't say my name so lightly, Hermione Granger."

"Oh, I am so sorry, _my lord_." Maybe it was because she was so hungry. Starvation could do that to someone, couldn't it?

"The words are right, Hermione Granger. But the tone…especially after I have been so kind to you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You haven't been—" Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. She shouldn't have said that. She shouldn't have said anything like that. She should have just kept her mouth shut, from the moment she walked through those doors. The twisted smile on Voldemort's face made her insides freeze.

"Yes, Hermione Granger. I have. I doubt that you appreciate just how kind I have been to you."

And then all that existed was pain. Spreading all around her body, hurting her, tearing at her. She thought that she fell to the ground, screaming. But she wasn't sure. All she was sure of was the pain and how much she wanted to die.

She thought she heard words. Though pain-obscured eyes, she realized that Voldemort had hold of her head, holding it in his long fingered hands. The only word that she recognized was Harry.

…

A hundred or more miles away, a boy doubled over, screaming. His clutched at his forehead, curling up in a small ball on the ground.

"Harry! Harry, what is it?" Ron crouched on the ground beside his friend, though his eyes darted around the forest fearfully. No one was around, but sound could carry, and the last thing that they needed was company at that moment.

As soon as Harry had begun screaming, he stopped. He lay there on the ground, gasping for breath, sweat running in beads down his face. He raised a hand to his face, covering his eyes.

"What happened, Harry?" Ron asked again, sitting back on his heels, wand ready in case anyone was around.

Harry let the hand slid down his face, so that he could see Ron. "Hermione," he said hoarsely, closing his eyes. "He's—he's hurting her."

Ron tensed. "Are you—are you sure?"

Harry nodded, breathing harshly. "Yes. So badly.

Ron rose to his feet, grinding his teeth together. "I mean…damn it, if he hurts her--!" He bit down on his lip, then shook his head. "Harry, are you sure? He's done this before, with…" He let his voice trail off, but Harry knew who he was talking about.

"I think that he guessed we might think that. Ron, I just…I _know_ that he really has her. Besides, we know that she was taken."

Ron nodded. "Yes, we do. But—"

"But what, Ron?" Harry pulled himself to his feet, running a hand over his scar. "He spoke to me."

"What?" Ron wheeled around, eyes wide. "What did he say?"

Harry took a deep breath before he began to speak. "That if I don't come for her, then he will…he'll torture her, every single day."

"Well, so we just—"

"He also said," Harry continued, his voice harsh and strained, "that when I do come, he will kill her."

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by Harry's attempts to catch his breath.

"H-how do we do this, then?" asked Ron, sounding completely at loss for what to do. "We can't win—"

"I know that!" Harry spat, his face twisting. "I know that! Why else do you think Voldemort told me that? We either let her suffer, or we go and she dies! Damn it!" He turned, slamming his fist into the trunk of a tree. "You know that I don't want her to be hurt! You know that!"

"Harry, I—"

"_Damn it!_" Harry's voice broken and his shoulders slumped. "He leaves me no choice."

"What are we going to do?" repeated Ron, afraid of what he was going to hear. He half hoped that they would be going for her…but he knew that they couldn't.

"We have to leave her," he said, sounding defeated. "We just…we can't risk it, Ron. We have to find the remaining horcruxes. Once we do that, then maybe…"

Ron closed his eyes. "I know, Harry. As much as I want her to be safe, to be with us, we can't just give up. If we go, he'll kill you. And you don't have a chance of killing _him_ if we haven't destroyed all of the horcruxes. I—" His eyes flew open, bright with hope. "Harry, I just had an idea! _I'll_ go. He won't be suspecting me, and even if he catches me…well, _you_ will still be alive."

"Ron, I might need your help. How can…?" He let his voice trail off. "Get her. Save her. Do whatever you need to, just wait until we have finished with this one horcrux. I don't know if I can destroy it by myself."

Ron inclined his head. "All right. It shouldn't take more than a day or two, should it? I hate to leave her there, but you're right. And then, once we are done, I'll go. All right?"

Harry nodded, a very small smile on his face. "All right."

…

"You shouldn't have done that."

Hermione groaned, her head rolling to the side. She hurt all over, though the pain was no longer immediate. She wasn't even sure where she was, but the voice wasn't Voldemort's…and it sounded very familiar.

Something cool touched her face and she tried to open her eyes. They remained shut tightly. She just didn't have enough energy to move.

"It was very stupid of you, you know. Taunting him like that. You should have expected this." She felt a small amount of water drip into her mouth, but she wasn't able to swallow. For a moment, she thought that she would choke, then someone massaged her throat, causing her to swallow the liquid. Her throat was raw from screaming and the water hurt as it went down, and yet it helped at the same time.

"W-wh—" She tried to speak, though only the beginning of the word came out.

"Don't talk. It will only make it worse." More water, and the same technique used to make her swallow.

She recognized the voice. How could she not? After all, he was the person who seemed to be around her the most these days. But why was he helping her?

She forced her eyes open, though they remained out of focus for a few moments. Then she found herself lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling of her room. It was still light out, or rather, it was still half-light out. It was never truly light when fog covered everything.

Malfoy was sitting next to her. What in the—why was he here? She frowned, and that small action sent waves of pain through her head.

Why was he helping her?

All he did was confuse her. She never knew how he was going to act, what mood he was going to be in. He just kept succeeding in surprising her.

Was he really the same Draco Malfoy that had taunted her and insulted her while they were at Hogwarts?

She knew the answer to that. No. Just as she was no longer the same Hermione Granger that had hidden behind her books. They were two different people.

How could she expect that he hadn't changed? She should be so vain as to think that he was the same person.

But had the changes been good? At times, she thought so. Especially now, when he was helping her. At others, she wasn't so sure.

He had changed so much, she couldn't help but wonder what he had gone through, what had happened to him over this summer that had done this to him.

And from the way he acted, from the things that he kept saying, she was sure that it was nothing good.

* * *

A/N2: I had something in mind for what I wanted to say here...but I can't remember.

I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Harry and Ron returned, and now they have an idea of what to do. You won't hear about how they get the horcrux because a) this story focuses on Hermione, and b) the entire thing is so comples that I don't want to have to write another plotline entirely.

Thank you all for reading, and reviewing (if you do).

Raven

Oh, and I will try to get the next chapter out much faster.


	10. Questions

A/N: Once again, sorry for the incredibly long wait. Several setbacks, and not a lot of time to write. Not to mention half a dozen more story ideas banging around in my head, trying to get themselves written down on paper.

I would like to thank all my readers and reviewers, and hope that you haven't abandoned this. I will _try_ to get the next chapter out fast, but I can't make any promises.

As it is, please enjoy.

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Chapter 10: Questions

It seemed as though days passed while she lay there, though she knew that it was only...hours? There was no clock in the room, and the only way she could reason was by the passage of the sun—when it was out. With half-closed eyes, she would watch the shadows cross the walls, the change of the light from outside the only thing that told her how long she was there. Of course, it wasn't as if she needed to know how long she lay there. There was little she could do; her body hurt too much to move and, after all, what did she have to look forward to? Another meeting with Voldemort?

Hermione closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. That last visit...she had no idea how she was going to survive. She didn't think that she had any strength left. She could barely lift her head, much less do anything else. And she knew...at least, she thought...that this was just the beginning. It was going to get so much worse. So, so much worse. She didn't know how, or what else he could do to her, but it would get worse. In her normal state, without all the pain, she would be able to think up a myriad of different ways, but not now. Although, the truth was that she didn't _want_ to think about it. Because, if she thought about it, then she _really_ didn't know how she was going to go on.

Trying to turn her thoughts to something else, Hermione found her mind drifting to Harry and Ron. She hoped, oh she hoped so much, that they would come for her. She wanted to be out, wanted to go home, wanted to go back to Hogwarts and study and be as reclusive as she had ever been. For a moment, she thought that she would like to be anywhere but here, in this little room, waiting to be taken down to face Voldemort again. In her normal state, she might have been able think up someplace worse than this. At the moment, though, she had no idea where that would be.

And, of course, as she had thought every single time that she had wished that Harry and Ron would come and get her, she realized how selfish it was. She knew, just as well as they did, whey they needed to find all the Horcruxes before coming after Voldemort. Right now...if they came, they would find themselves facing an invincible foe, as well as who knows how many other Death Eaters. It would be a mistake, on all their parts, for them to come.

Every time that she had been in a situation even somewhat like this, there had been someone to help. Dumbledore, mostly. But he was gone, and most of the people who _could_ help her were in no position to do so. She couldn't rely on anyone else to help her.

But she didn't know how to help herself.

Malfoy had left within an hour after he had brought her back to her room. He didn't give a reason for leaving—thought it wasn't as though she needed one—and had simply up and left as she had begun to drift into a state of semi-consciousness. She had dimly noted that the door had opened and closed, and that there was no longer human presence beside her, but other than that she barely noticed that he was gone.

She simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling, occasionally letting her eyes drift over to the window. There was no sun anymore; after that one day it had disappeared again behind that thick cloud cover. Now her room was dark, and from what she could tell the sun—wherever it was shining—was sinking below the horizon. There was still a dim light; a red light filtering through clouds. The color of the sky at night before it began to rain. No stars, no light from the moon, just a brown-red color that drowned everything.

The last thing that she saw was the first drops of rain splattering against the windows, the water running down the glass like tears.

She dropped off into an uneasy sleep full of unpleasant dreams full of pain. Flashes of color and light, faces that she knew, memories and things created of her mind alone, they all mixed together into something that unsettled her, and yet she couldn't wake from it. Every so often she would wake, her eyes opening for a few seconds before closing tightly, her dreams taking hold of her once more. If she had been able to move she would have clutched at something in those moments where she was awake, as though that would have kept her from slipping back into sleep.

It was the sound of the door opening that finally made her wake. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and she lay there, her eyes wide open and glued to the ceiling. For a moment, she thought that she had simply imagined it, but then she felt the presence of someone else in the room, and she knew that she hadn't. Someone else _was_ there, though she didn't know who. If she were forced to guess, she would have said Malfoy, if only because he was the only one that had come into this room for the past...however many days it had been.

She was right. At least, partly. It was Malfoy who came over to the bed and grabbed her by her shoulders, pulling her upright.

"Get up," he said, his voice quiet and softer than she would have thought for someone who was roughly dragging her out of her bed. She tried to protest, but he set his hand over her mouth. "Shut it, and just get up."

She swallowed back a wave of nausea, nodding as best she could. With shaking legs, she tried to stand. She really did, one hand clutching at the bedpost to keep herself from falling. Between that and Malfoy's hold on her shoulder, she was able to stand. Somewhat. But not walk. Before she could voice this to him, Malfoy had made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat, then lifted her up, carrying her to the door. Each step made the pounding in her head grow, but she didn't make a sound. Simply closed her eyes and waited. She knew this drill; he would take her down the hall, the down the steps, then through the other hall until they came to the doors. And then...then she would see Voldemort again.

"Good. You have brought her."

Her eyes snapped open as she heard the voice. But...but she wasn't even...what...

"Hello, Hermione Granger."

Hermione breathed in, her eyes shutting again. Why, why was he _here_? Why was he right outside of her room? She didn't understand, _couldn't_ understand. It just—Malfoy had said that—it didn't make any sense--

"Set her down, Draco. Now, I said hello, Hermione Granger." There was an...an _amused_ undertone to his voice, she noticed. As Malfoy set her down on the ground she let her eyes open once again and looked up at Voldemort. On her hands and knees, she looked up and locked eyes with him.

"H-hello, V-oldemort," she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering. It did anyway, breaking and cracking and making her sound weak and broken.

A smile grew on Voldemort's face. Not a big smile, just the twisting upwards of the corners of his mouth. "No, no, it is not _Voldemort_, Hermione Granger. It is _Lord_ Voldemort, and you must learn that." He reached down, setting the tips of his fingers against her forehead. As soon as the contact was made, waves of pain rushed through her body, radiating to every part. It only lasted for a moment, but it left her feeling weaker than ever. Against her will, her head bowed.

"L-lord Voldemort," she gasped out, trying to hold herself up by bracing her arms against the cold stone of the floor. "Lord Voldemort."

"Very good." The amusement was still there, and she hated that. "Are you ready to tell me where Potter is now?"

"No," she spat out, her entire body shaking. She wouldn't tell him. She wouldn't. She--

There was another torrent of pain, and this time it left her sagging against the floor. "That would be, 'No, Lord Voldemort,'" came his cold voice, though it still seemed as though he were laughing at her.

She coughed, seeing a small amount of blood splatter against the floor. "No, L-lord Vol-demort," she gasped out, her voice sounding faint to her own ears. "No, Lord Voldemort, I-I will not t-t-tell you."

His boot came up under her head, twisting it so that she was looking upwards. "Well, Hermione Granger, since you have learned so quickly, I will give you a treat. Would you like to know what the treat is?"

"N-no, Lord Voldemort."

His foot pushed her head up higher, so that her neck was being strained. "That is too bad. But I will tell you what it is anyway. For being such a _good_ girl, I will let you spend the day here. Draco, take her back inside." He removed his boot and her head fell to the ground, her skin bruising as it collided with the stone. She couldn't move and just lay there with her arms and legs spread around her, her face pressed against the cold stones. Then heard the sound of footsteps as he walked off down the hall.

For a moment, Hermione thought that she would be left there, a broken body in the middle of the hall. Then she felt someone slip their arm around her stomach, rolling her over and drawing her up so that she was lifted from the floor. She knew it was Malfoy; after all, there was no one else around. Normally, she would have minded. Normally, she would have hit him, slapped him, yelled at him. But then, she wasn't in any normal situation. So she simply curled up as best she could, the side of her head resting against his chest. There wasn't any way for her to explain it, but it felt...comforting. To have someone there, who was not hurting her. Not trying to hurt her. She didn't like the feeling, of having to rely on Draco Malfoy, but then, she didn't like most of the things that were happening to her.

Once again, she found herself back on the bed. This time, however, she wasn't content with lying down. Her body ached, she felt as tired as she had been before she had slept, but she didn't want to stay there. Using the wall and the headboard for support, she levered herself up so that she was sitting. Then, beads of sweat running down her face, she let her head fall back.

"W-what was that a-ll about?" she asked, her voice sounding incredibly hoarse. She didn't need to look to know that Malfoy was still there. "I-I thought you s-said that he wouldn't be coming here."

"I said that he wouldn't come into this room, Granger. I never said anything about him not coming into the hall."

"Same thing," Hermione muttered, turning her head toward the window. There was a dull throbbing in her legs, undermining the rest of her hurts; she supposed that it came from not really moving on her own for the past few days. The muscles were cramping or something like that. She shifted them, ignoring the daggers of pain that raced through the rest of her body. She would have to find some time to move; at the very least, she would have to force herself to walk around the small room. Otherwise...well, she highly doubted that she could feel much worse than she already was. "S-so why was h-he h-here?" Swallowing hard, she attempted to speak without the stuttered that had just come about. As she swallowed, however, she tasted the copper of blood and nearly choked. There was blood in her mouth; had she bitten herself without knowing, at some point during the torture? It was likely.

Malfoy was silent for a moment and she glanced at him through narrow eyes. He didn't seem quite as pale as the last time she had seen him, though he still had an unhealthy look around him. The skin under his eyes was the red of utter exhaustion and his hair was unkempt. In fact, the black robes that he wore made him look even worse. "I brought him," he finally said, the words seeming almost forced.

Hermione closed her eyes, swallowing another mouthful of blood and spit. She should have known. Of course he would bring him here. After all, Malfoy worked for that man. Followed his orders. "Oh."

She opened her eyes again, just in time to see Malfoy run a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching. "Let me finish."

"F-fine. Finish what you were going to say." Her words came out coldly. She had begun to think, for just a few moments, that maybe—just maybe—she could trust Malfoy. At least somewhat. But now--

"Look," he began, moving towards her. Hermione flinched ever so slightly, but did nothing more as he sat down at the foot of the bed. "I did not intend for you to get hurt more."

"Of course."

Malfoy's jaw clenched again and he looked away from her. "Just shut up and let me talk. You got off easy today, don't you realize that? I was able to convince Lord Voldemort to come and look at you; he is able to tell when someone will be pushed to far. When someone's body is going to give out. And you are no good to him dead. I got him to come up here so that he could see that another day, at this point, might kill you. All right?"

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head. "What?" She was not entirely sure of what she had just heard. "But--"

"It worked," continued Malfoy as though she had never spoken. "I must say, I didn't expect you to start following what he said. You don't strike me as the type of person to do that. But that is how he deals with things, and that is probably the only think that is keeping you up here, rather than down there at his mercy. He effectively made you act upon his wishes, which is what he wants." He leaned forward so that their eyes were locked. "I don't know if you knew that or not. But that is how he works. He could easily go into your head and take the information that he wants; it is incredibly easy for him to do. But he won't, because it isn't any fun. It is more satisfying to him to have someone finally cave to his demands. To force them a way that they don't want to go.

"Potter is the one he really wants." It was odd, Hermione thought, to see Malfoy talking about it. He seemed almost...at ease, his legs draped over the side of the bed, his back against one of the end posts. "You are pretty much nothing to him, just a pretty face and a way to get to Potter. I would be careful if I were you, Granger. You tell him what he wants and then you are useless. Course, he could still use you to taunt Potter, but he could just as easily spell someone to look like you. All he needs is whatever information is in your head. Once he gets it, he'll kill you."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, almost glaring at him. "I-I'll keep that in mind, all right? Do you honestly think that I would tell him? D-do you think me that stupid?"

"You tell him, and there is a chance that the torture will stop," was Malfoy's answer, and once again Hermione found that he spoke far too easily about it. "A small chance—very small—but it is there."

"What are you trying to do, Malfoy?" Her voice was laced with anger now. "Confuse me? Trick me?" She ended her words with a fit of coughing as the pain in her body overcame her again. Doubling over, she clasp a hand at her throat as though that would stop it.

Malfoy watched her for a moment, the rose from his seat. "Wait here," he said, turning and heading into the bathroom. Hermione's lip curled and she fought back the urge to shout something after him, something sarcastic, as it was obvious that she wasn't able to move from the bed on her own.

He returned a moment later, a cup of water in his hands. Once beside her, he set it to her lips. "Drink. That's the other thing; you haven't had much food or water for the past few days. If you don't do something about that, your body will just shut down."

Hermione took a sip of the water, letting it sooth her throat. "Where did you learn all of this?" she asked after a moment, and was rewarded with the barest hint of a smile, the first one that she had really seen on his face.

"Hospital wing, after a particularly hellish game against Ravenclaw. Besides, you just pick things up after awhile. It is common knowledge that you need to eat, Granger."

Her eyes narrowed again as she drank. When the cup was half empty, she spoke again. "Did you just admit that a match against Ravenclaw was hard?"

The smile grew somewhat. "I never said that. I believe the word I used was 'hellish'."

"Uh-huh. And what is the difference?"

Malfoy's face darkened. "You are smart, Granger. I'm sure you can figure it out."

There was a moment of silence, where Hermione reached up and took the cup in her own hand. She nearly dropped it, for she had begun to shake. Hunger, she supposed, because as the pains from the magic Voldemort had used upon her faded she found that other needs made themselves known. Before the cup could tip and fall, however, Malfoy reached out and steadied her hand. She didn't say anything, simply accepted his help. Raising the cup to her lips, she let the water slid down her throat, the set the glass down on the stand beside the bed. Her hands settled in her lap and she turned, looking at Malfoy.

"Harry told me," she began, nervousness creeping through her, "that you were the first one on the roof."

Malfoy stilled, his entire body becoming tense. There was no need to clarify what she was talking about. For a moment, she thought that he wasn't going to answer.

"I was there, yes." His eyes darted to the side, and she knew that this wasn't something that he wanted to talk about. She plowed on, regardless.

"You were supposed to--" She paused, not entirely sure how to say it. Malfoy's eyes returned to hers, cold and harsh.

"Just say it," he hissed through clenched teeth. Hermione bit her bottom lip softly, then continued.

"He told me that you were the one who was supposed to kill Dumbledore." The last words were so quiet that she wasn't sure if he had heard. Either way, he sat there for a moment, then his eyes left hers again.

"Yes." That word was just as soft, if not softer. It was as though he didn't want to admit it to himself. The he looked up. "Yes, I was supposed to."

Her breath caught for a moment as she struggled to find the words to say, to try and pry the truth from him. "And it was Snape that--"

"Yes."

She already knew that. "Just let me finish, all right?" He inclined his head sharply, though his body stayed rigid. "Snape killed Dumbledore. And that means that you...you failed Voldemort."

He sat there, his eyes boring holes through her head. "Yes."

It was her turn to look down, down at her hands where they rested in her lap. "Then...then why are you still alive, Malfoy? Why did he let your mistake go?"

There was a bitter laugh and she looked up. Malfoy had one hand half covering his face and was laughing. Not amused laughter, just...laughter. It sounded almost dead as it was so devoid of emotion. Then he stopped laughing, but the hand remained over his face.

"Malfoy?"

He looked at her through his fingers. "Who ever said that he let the mistake go? And you are right when you call it a mistake, Granger. It was. If I could go back, I would kill him." She wasn't sure what she felt when he said that, wasn't sure if she had expected it. Something must have shown on her face, for Malfoy gave another short laugh. "Don't give me a look like that, Granger. I would kill him."

"But--"

"Just drop it, Granger. You don't need to know about me." He stood, and now there was no trace of the smile left at all. She hadn't really expected there to be. "So don't ask me about it again. Do you understand?"

He didn't give her time to answer, but turned on his heel and strode towards the door. Hermione watched him as he went, feeling no more sure of anything than she had before they had spoken. But she guessed that she had just pushed him to far, and wasn't sure if there was anything she could to to fix it.


	11. Strength

A/N: A faster update. I tried to get this out yesterday, but wasn't letting me upload the document. Anyway, here's the next chapter. After this...I guess I shouldn't give anything away. Enjoy.

Oh, and thank you to everyone who reviewed. I love the feedback that I get.

* * *

Chapter 11: Strength 

For a moment, Hermione simply sat there, staring at the door. Then, knowing that he was gone, she let her head fall back against the wall, her eyes closing.

"That didn't work well," she said to herself, mostly just to hear herself speak. Without someone else there to distract her, all of the little aches and pains came back, taunting her and tormenting her. There was an aching, a dull throbbing all throughout her body, as well as the feeling of emptiness in her stomach that wouldn't go away; she doubted that it would anytime soon. There would be no food for her for...well, she didn't know how long. But she doubted that any would be brought to her within the next few minutes, so she simply tried to push that particular thing to the back of her mind. It worked fairly well, but trying to forget about that made her realize something else.

She had to go to bathroom. Desperately.

It was almost enough to make her bang her head against the wall, if she hadn't known that it would both make her head ache terribly, and not help her one bit.

With a soft groan, Hermione used her arms to lever herself out of the bed, nearly losing her balance and falling in the process. Once her feet were on the ground, she reached out for the wall, supporting herself while she began to move slowly towards the bathroom door.

It was an incredibly slow process; moving one foot forward, sliding her hands down the wall, making sure that she didn't collapse onto the ground. If she did, she doubted that she would make it back up by herself.

Eventually, she made it around the perimeter of the room to the door and pulled herself inside. Then she shut the door, falling against it as she finally lost her balance and stumbled, losing her footing and slumping to the ground.

But she was in the bathroom, and the accomplishment of actually making it gave her a sort of pride, though she would never admit it to anyone. To think, Hermione Granger, top of her class, being proud about making it to the bathroom by herself!

After a few moments of rest, she pulled herself to her feet and staggered over to the toilet and was finally able to rid herself of one of the things that was making her feel particularly horrible. Then, using the opportunity of being in the bathroom, she washed her hands and face and the rest of her body as best she could. She didn't dare use the tub; in her condition, with on one else around, it would not be safe. If she fell and found herself under the water there was no telling if she would be able to survive. Her body might simply give out and allow her to drift away into death.

That gave her pause to think about why she was even allowed to have a tub in the same room. It was, she thought, a way out. Not a particularly nice way out, and she didn't especially want to die, but it was a way to get rid of all of her problems. There was one answer to that, only one that she thought was possible, from what she knew about Voldemort, and from what Malfoy had said about how he acted. It would probably delight him to know that he had the power to drive someone to take their own life.

Either that, or she was just making things a lot more complicated than they really were.

The cold water from the sink on her face drove most thoughts from her mind, making her gasp for breath. It was as though there were ice in the water, and she wasn't sure if that were a good thing. It woke her completely, just as it had the day before, and while it seemed to numb something things, that abrupt jolt back into complete consciousness made most of her hurts seem larger than they had been before.

But she could probably think more clearly now.

Hermione turned back towards the main portion of the room, unaided by the wall. Each step she took was careful, deliberate, and she found that she only had to reach out for support once or twice. Not wanting to return to the bed, she made her way over to the windowsill, setting herself down. Then she rested her head against the frame, letting her breath fog the glass. With one hand she reached out and touched the panels, feeling how cold they were beneath her fingers. It was hard to believe that it wasn't winter yet, that it was only a little ways out of summer.

Nature had a way of mirroring what was happening with its inhabitants, she supposed. A way of twisting itself so that it would be just as awful as the things happening in it. Of course, the weather was probably also a product of magic. She had no doubt that it could be manipulated, as well as no doubt that the Death Eaters would use it to their advantage. They loved fear, and if the world suddenly roiled up under the feet of those who walked upon it...then there would be more fear, far more.

It was still raining, the water splattering against the glass and running down the surface, reminding her strongly of tears running down a person's face. They raced past her fingers were they still rested on the glass, just out of reach. Hermione was suddenly stuck by a longing to touch those drops, if only to know that there was something outside of this room, out of this-this place. She knew, of course, that there was an entire world out there. But she just wanted to touch it.

No, she wanted more than that. She wanted to be out there. She didn't find if she froze in the rain; it would be better than sitting at the window, awaiting only the next session of torture with Voldemort. There was nothing for her in this room. Nothing.

She rested her head against the glass, her eyes shut, ignoring the headache that the cold created. There had to be some way. Some way to get out. She just had to think about it, and she had the time...

Slowly, she let her hand slide down the windowpane, checking around the edges as best she could. Though she highly doubted it, it was possible that she could open it. Hermione knew that there was a tree just outside; it would be only a small jump to reach it. From there, well, a long trip to the ground, so a misstep wouldn't be an option, nor would losing her grip and falling.

In her condition...she would probably fall.

There wasn't any opening to the window as it was. A few kicks to it, or maybe if she was able to use something in the room, and it would most likely break. There didn't appear to be anything magical securing it in place, though she couldn't be entirely sure. While she had become used to sensing where there was and was not magic, she knew that there were still some spells that used so little, or used it so craftily, that there was no way that _she_ could detect them. Not that she could ever tell _what_ spell had been used, just that magic had been used on something. And while there was a magical charge around the entire place, she didn't feel anything in particular emanating from the window.

Which made things to easy. Far too easy, which made her suspect that this was a trap of sorts. She really didn't think Voldemort stupid enough to leave that easy of an exit, unless he had something in mind for if she _did_ try to escape.

Of course, it could just be her mind complicating things again.

There was pretty much no way out. She didn't know the place that well and had no idea if she would run into a Death Eater even if she were able to get out of the room. Which she didn't think that she could. Of course, she hadn't ever checked to make sure that the door was locked...

With that thought, she began to pull herself up from the window, having half a mind to go check if the door was really locked. She had barely begun, however, when she fell back against the wall, holding a hand to her head. It was useless. Of course the door was locked. She heard him lock it, ever single time that he left. The little click that told of a key being turned, the scraping of metal upon metal. There was no point at all in checking. It was locked. The damn thing was locked.

Hermione remained there, her hand pressed against her face. She just wanted to get out. Just...just to get out of this mess. That was all.

When she was little, she had always wanted to be brave. She had thought that nothing would ever stand in her way, that nothing could ever crush her. As a young girl in a muggle school she had been top of the class, no different than she had been at Hogwarts. Always with her nose buried in a book, rarely ever joining in with the frivolous little games that the other girls played. It wasn't as though she had always been studying; half the time she read stories that the other kids wouldn't even think to look at. She would scour the school library, searching for the hardest books to read, to challenge herself.

And when she read...she would read about adventures. The big, great, grand adventures. The ones filled with magic and the battles of good versus evil. Hermione remembered bargaining with the librarian to take more that the set amount of books home, carrying them all back in an overstuffed backpack. Once home, she would curl up on her bed, flipping through the pages and hanging onto every single word.

Even when she found out that she was a witch, even when she knew what the magical world was really like, she hung onto those stories, the ones that she read as a child. And she had found new books, exciting books, of so many types that she would spend most of her summer break just reading. Poring over the contents, just absorbing everything.

In the back of her mind she had always thought that she would be able to withstand something like this. That those characters in the books, the ones who always broke before the end, that they just hadn't tried hard enough. That they had given up too soon. She had always thought that she would be smart enough to get out of a situation like this, and she had...she had always had a pride, and _arrogance,_ inside of her saying that she would be able to withstand pain like this. Even after she had been hurt so often, even after all those adventures with Harry and Ron, she had still thought that. It was a fragment of a dream, now. Torn to shreds and thrown to the wind.

She wasn't as strong as she had thought she was.

Hermione rubbed her hand over her eyes, trying to keep the tears back. As she did so, something cool touched her face and she jerked back. Then, realizing what it was, she held her arm before her, running the fingers of her other hand over the thin band of metal that encircled her wrist.

Blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of tears, she removed the bracelet from her wrist, holding it up before her eyes. The metal was cold to her touch, though it warmed ever so slightly as she held it.

She wondered if she would still be able to use it. To contact Ron and Harry. She just might be able to summon up enough energy, and she had been practicing spells without using a wand, though they never turned out as powerful. She could activate the spell in the bracelet, except...except Voldemort would probably sense her using magic, and then everything would be over.

Hermione set the bracelet back on her wrist, making sure that it was secure. She wouldn't use it until she really had to. It gave her a bit of an advantage, she supposed. Small, yes, but an advantage. If Voldemort didn't know...then she had one chance to use it. Not that she could actually get a message to them or anything, but she could still contact them, at least somewhat.

Her head snapped to the side as she heard a key slide into the door, and the now familiar clicking of the lock. Then the door swung open, and Malfoy returned.

"You're back," she said, her voice sounding hoarse to her ears. She honestly hadn't expected him to return, at least not so soon. He obviously hadn't liked the questions that she had asked him, hadn't wanted to answer, and then hadn't wanted to be around her.

"I am." He closed the door behind him, the bottom of his black robes swishing against the floor. "You sound surprised."

Hermione's mouth curved into a small smile. "I am, at least a bit. I could tell you weren't happy with...with the questions that I was asking."

He stared at her for a moment, then moved over to where she was sitting. He reached out, setting something on the ledge beside her. Looking down, she saw that it was a package, a piece of black material wrapped around...something.

"What is that?" she asked, not touching it. Malfoy sat down on the other side of the window, leaning up against the glass.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" he suggested, propping one leg up before him. Hermione regarded him through narrowed eyes, unsure of whether or not to trust him. "Come on, Granger. I didn't put anything in there that will kill you."

Still hesitant, Hermione picked up the bundle, carefully unwrapping the material. Her eyes widened when she saw what was inside. "You—what—why?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Because you needed it."

Inside the bundle were several strips of dried meat and a few withered apples. It wasn't much, but it was far more than she had eaten in the past few days. In fact, it looked almost more than she could eat. She looked up at Malfoy, unsure of what to say.

"I-I—thank you, Malfoy."

Malfoy inclined his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Now, eat it. You've gone long enough without food."

Swallowing hard, Hermione picked up a piece of meat, bringing it to her mouth. Her teeth closed over it and she tore off a piece, chewing it and swallowing it quickly. She had tried to eat slowly, she really had. But she was so hungry that, after that first bite, she simply began to eat, simply began to tear at the food. Every single bit of it, even the cores of the apples. At this point, she didn't care about seeds or anything like that; it was food, and food meant survival.

As it turned out, there wasn't enough food. Even as she swallowed the last bite of apples, her stomach rumbled, demanding more. She stared almost sadly down at the now empty cloth, wishing that there was more food, that it would somehow magically appear.

Malfoy reached down and picked up the fabric, folding it and putting it away into his robes. "That's enough for now. Eat to much and you could end up doing more harm to your body than good."

Hermione nodded, understanding, though she didn't like it. "All right, Malfoy. Whatever you say." She nearly winced when she saw his eyes narrow. "S-sorry about that." Her words had been to harsh, maybe a little too sarcastic. She guessed. Her eyes fell to her hands, determinedly not looking at Malfoy.

There was silence for a good minute, before he spoke. When he did, she could hardly believe his words.

"That's all right, Granger."

Her head jerked upwards and she stared at him. Then she shook her head. She should know by now not to be surprised by anything that he did or said. He wasn't predictable, not anymore. At least, she wasn't able to tell what he would do next. When they were at school he had always been the same. An arrogant little boy, someone who would insult and taunt her whenever he could. Now, he wasn't. She supposed that he wasn't really Draco Malfoy anymore. No more than she was Hermione Granger. They were both in the same body that they had always had, but they just...they weren't as they had been.

"Oh," she said softly, that being all that she could think of to say. "Well...well, I'm still sorry. It was uncalled for. And I _am_ very grateful for you bring that food, Malfoy."

"You are welcome."

"It's just," she continued, not knowing when or how to stop the flow of words, "that I am so sick of being in here. Of this routine. I'm lashing out, and you are the only one that I can really lash out _at_. I know it's stupid, and you don't do anything to warrant remarks that are snide or rude or anything like that. I mean, beyond being the one to bring me here, you haven't really done anything to me. Other than help me, at least in small ways. So I'm just being...I'm just being rude. Okay?" Having run out of air, she inhaled deeply, trying to catch her breath.

Malfoy hadn't moved from his seat through her entire short rant, simply watched her. Even now, he just sat there, his eyes trained on her face. Still trying to catch her breath, Hermione half froze, waiting for his reaction.

Finally, he brushed a hand through his hair, sighing. "It wasn't my choice to bring you here, Granger. Then again, I really didn't have a choice in the matter. I was just doing what I was told, nothing more, nothing less."

"But didn't you have a reason? Other than following orders?" she asked, beginning to pry at him with questions again. When he stared at her blankly, she elaborated. "You hate me, Malfoy."

This prompted another half smile, and she wondered why. "I did hate you, Granger. First year, second year, most of our time at Hogwarts. After all, you are muggle-born, and you got the better of me in ever single class. That is just how I was."

Hermione blinked as she heard his words. "Wait...you did hate me? As in...what now, Malfoy? Do you still hate me?"

He shrugged again, still leaning against the wall, still watching her closely. "Somewhat. Sometimes. But not most of the time. I guess that I never had any _real_ reason to hate you, I just did. And now...now I just don't think that you deserve this. I like you a whole lot more than many of the other people here, I have to say that. I've...learned a lot since last year. There are people who deserve thing, and people who don't. You don't, not really. Potter...now, that's a different matter, but I won't go into it. I don't like him, and I never will. You...you I don't mind so much anymore."

"I wish I knew you were being sincere." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Malfoy looked away from her at that.

"I deserve that, I guess."

Hermione's eyes fell back to her hands. Sometimes she should just learn to stop talking. She was normally so quiet, but then...then she had almost always had _someone_ to talk to. Even if it was just her cat. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"How is Christabelle?"

Malfoy turned his gaze back towards her. "She's fine, as far as I know. Blaise's in charge of her, and I haven't had much of a chance to speak with him. As far as I know, nothing has happened to her."

"That's...that's good news. Thank you for telling me, Malfoy." Hermione looked up from her hands, making eye contact with him again. "She seemed to be rather attached to you, last time I saw her."

Malfoy shrugged. "I suppose she did."

Hermione decided to drop that topic, though she did want to hear more about Christabelle, thought she expected that there wasn't much more to hear. And it was better, in an odd sort of way, not knowing. Then she couldn't worry, and she could almost forget, as cruel as that sounded. But it was just too much for her, to have to deal with both her own plight and Christabelle's.

It still hurt her to think about it, though, and she cringed inwardly. Hopefully nothing was going to happen to the girl. Too much had happened to her already.

The sound of rustling robes broke Hermione out of her thoughts and she started as she noticed that Malfoy had stood up. He began to move towards the door, taking long steps. "Wait!" she called out, rising unsteadily from her seat. "Where are you going?"

"I have things to do, Granger," came his cold answer as he continued to head for the door. Hermione bit her bottom lip, the moved forward as quickly as she could without harming herself, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Wait," she said again. He stopped, turning his head so that he could see her fully. "Couldn't you...could you just stay? Just a little while longer?"

Malfoy gazed down at her for a moment, then shook his head. "I have other things that I need to do, Granger. Now, let go."

Hermione let her arm fall away, stepping back from him. "A-all right. I'm sorry."

Malfoy shook his head again. "You don't have to say that you are sorry. I'll come back later with more food, all right?" Hermione nodded, and he began to head back toward the door.

And then the door was closed and locked and the small room seemed much colder.


	12. Normality

A/N: Well, it has been awhile. Over two months, and I wish it hadn't taken so long for me to write this pathetically small chapter. Unfortunately, my writing time has been...well, almost no time at all. For several weeks the only extra time I had at all was from 4-5 pm, and that had to be used for eating.

This isn't all that I was able to get written in the free time that I did have, though. Originally, I wanted to put up a much longer chapter which continued where this one left off, but that part didn't turn out how I wanted it to, and so I have been rewriting it and rewriting it--still, it isn't what I want it to be yet. And, unfortunately, I will not have the use of the computer for the next week...

I do hope that you will all stay with the story, though. I am not abandoning it, I just have so little time to write that two to three weeks should be expected before the next chapter--though it may come much sooner. It all depends on if I can get that stupid chapter written.

So, thank you to all the readers and reviewers, and I hope that you will like this chapter. As always, if you see spelling/grammar errors, please point them out.

* * *

Chapter 12: Normality

Hermione remained standing in the center of the room for several minutes after he left, simply staring at the door. Then, when the sound of his footsteps had drifted away, she shook her head, clearing her mind as best she could. She had expected him to do just that--walk out and leave. Even though he had been surprising her more and more with his actions as of late, there were somethings that he would still do. And it didn't matter, either way. He _did_ have other things that he had to do, she was sure of it. After all, he _was_ a Death Eater, and she doubted that they stayed in this...manor, for lack of a better word, all the time. Not that she really wanted to know what he did when he wasn't with her...

The aches in her legs were getting worse—no doubt because she hadn't been moving around much at all. Well, there wasn't much room, but she was able to walk again. She began to walk, moving around the perimeter of the room, stretching her legs out as best she could.

This place where she was being kept...she suppose that she _could_ call it a manor, though she really had no idea about its layout. At least two floors, she knew that, and at least two bedrooms and bathrooms on the second story. It was certainly large enough to hold many more rooms; even though she had tended to be fairly dazed each time that Malfoy took her through the place, she could still determine that it was quite large.

All the floors were stone. At least, every one that she had seen. She paused in her walking, gazing down at the ground. Larger stones, grey, some more smooth than others. They looked to be quite old, what with the more worn paths created by busy feet. Not hers, of course not. It looked as though...well, they had been there for quite awhile. She knelt down, tracing her fingers along the edge of one of the blocks of stone. She pursed her lips, scrapping a fingernail across the surface. Not even a scratch. Well, that confirmed it. The floor, at the very least, was incredibly old.

The walls looked to be made of the same material; she noted this as she began to pace again. Of course, the stone that composed the walls was not worn in the same manner as the floor. No one would be walking on the walls. Hermione allowed a small smile to flicker across her face at that thought. People walking on walls...although, she supposed that it was entirely possible. She had seen things far stranger than that it the past years.

As she completed another circuit around the room, she glanced at door. The wood looked very old as well, cracked and dry near the bottom, with long scratches trailing down it. Claw marks, almost. Long, deep gouges that started close to the top and continued all the way to the bottom. But they were not fresh, and some of them looked as though someone had tried to sand over then, trying to rid the wood of its disfigurement. The doorknob, as well as the hinges on the side, were all made of dark iron, in a style that she had not seen used in contemporary objects. The hinges were rusted in places, which explained why the door squeaked every time that it was opened.

Odd how she hadn't really noticed any of this before.

The window, on the other hand...she pivoted on her feet, heading toward it. The glass looked far newer than the stones or the door, though it was not new by any means. As she neared again, she noticed how the glass was warped. It wasn't just an effect created by the rain that still streamed down its face; the glass looked almost as though it were melting. Slowly, very slowly, but she could see the ripples in it, and how it appeared thicker near the bottom. She remembered looking at some of the older houses in her hometown with her parents once, and how her mother had pointed out how the old glass would slide and melt like this over time. She had never been told and had never learned how long it took for glass to look like this, but still...the glass must be old.

But it was inexpertly installed. Hermione could feel a small draft flow through the room and as she stopped by the window she could see small cracks around the edges, where the frame did not fit snugly enough.

So at least this room was old. But she remembered the doors that opened to the room where she met with Voldemort. They were very similar to these, though in much better condition.

A two-story stone building. All she could think of were the old forts and castles that could be found in various places around Britain and the rest of Europe. It didn't help her much, as she could be anywhere. Anywhere at all.

Her legs still hurt a fair amount, but she felt much better than she had earlier. What with the food and the exercise...but there were still aches all over her body. She doubted they would go away any time soon.

She could keep walking, she really could. But she didn't want to. The bed looked very inviting, sitting there in the corner of the room with the blankets all crumpled up on it. A wave of drowsiness ran through her and she made her way over to it, letting herself fall onto it.

Darkness washed over her, and she slept.

But sleep did not last for her. Though she wasn't entirely sure how long she slept, she was sure it couldn't have been more than one or two hours. Three at the most. But with the rain still pouring outside, and the clouds still covering the sun, she couldn't be sure about what time it was, or if the day had come or left or what. She didn't feel rested at all. If it was at all possible, she felt more exhausted than before.

"Did I wake you?" came Malfoy's voice from near the door and her head shot up. She had just propped herself up on her elbows when he crossed the room to her, tossing another bundle at her side. "There. Some more food, since I am sure that you need it." He sat down beside her on the bed, his posture very relaxed.

"Th-thank you," she managed, her mind still muddled by sleep. "Yeah, I do." Hermione unwrapped the bundle, spreading the contents out beside her. In addition to the apples and meat that were the same as what he had brought her before there was also a small hunk of cheese and a few stale rolls of bread. She smiled up at Malfoy for a moment, then bit into one of the apples. As whithered and small as it was, the flesh was sweet and it was juicy enough to please her. She was about to take another bite when Malfoy reached up and grabbed her wrist, stopping her movement.

"I wouldn't eat much more," he said, removing the apple from hand and setting it back into the cloth. "Keep all of this under the bed, or somewhere where it will not be seen. Got it?"

Hermione raised one of her eyebrows, looking at him in a confused manner. "No, I don't get it. Why bring the food, say I need it, and then take it away? As you probably can guess, or just did guess, I do actually need to eat." As if to prove the point, her stomach chose that moment to growl. She ignored it, concentrating on Malfoy.

The boy looked away from her, out the window, and ran a hand through is hair, sweeping it out of his face. "Eh...No, it doesn't make much sense. To you, at least. But it all makes perfect sense to me."

"Explain, Malfoy. Give me a reason why I shouldn't eat right now."

Malfoy sighed, turning his head back so that their eyes met. "Lord Voldemort it in a particularly bad mood at the moment. If you eat now, I doubt that it will stay down. He has a tendency to take out his frustrations on whoever is handy at that time."

"Oh." Hermione glanced down at the floor. "Wh-what happened? Or is it just mood swings, or something like that?"

Malfoy snorted. "Not mood swings. No, someone made a mistake last night. I'm not permitted to tell you exactly what happened, but he certainly isn't happy about it."

"Someone was killed?" she asked, though she knew, the moment after she said it, that it really meant nothing. Asking simply if someone was killed didn't specify if it was a Death Eater, someone she knew, or a muggle.

"Something like that," was his answer. "Herm—Granger. When I take you down there today, I want you to be careful. Don't...don't provoke him. He can be very...very cruel when things don't go his way."

"Like he isn't cruel already," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. This was simply wonderful. She could probably end up dead by the end of the day, if she wasn't careful.

The side of Malfoy's mouth quirked in a humorless smile. "Oh, he can get worse. Far, far worse. Trust me on this." The half-smile died and his gaze intensified. "Don't do anything stupid, Granger. If you value your life—even tell him what he wants to--"

"No." His eyes widened at the force behind her words. She began to shake her head, tangled hair whipping around her face. "No, no, no. I will _not_ tell him anything to save myself. I will not be that selfish. I won't." But she was trembling now, though she didn't want to. If things could get that bad, then she just...but she couldn't tell him. She couldn't. This was the only edge they had over him, the only one. That and having Harry, but still...they couldn't let him know, she wouldn't let him find out.

"Stop." Malfoy grabbed her shoulders, stilling her shaking form. "Granger, with how he was the last time I saw him, he might even force his way into your mind. Do you want that? _Do you?_"

"I'd kill myself before I let him in," she spat, and in that moment she knew that it was truly what she would do. She didn't know how, but she would not let him in, even if it meant taking her own life.

Malfoy moved away from her, shaking his head. "Damn it, what is it that you know that is so important?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Do you wish to catch me off guard, to make me tell you whatever it is that I know? What if I told you that there wasn't anything, Malfoy? And you tell me to trust you."

She saw his jaw clench and then unclench, his teeth grinding together. "Do not spin take my words out of context--"

"That's not what I'm doing! I told you, I would die before I told anyone!" Unknown to her, her voice was getting louder and angrier, as was his. "So don't try to trick me into telling you _anything!_"

Malfoy glared at her, his words hissing out from between his teeth. "Just. Tell. Me. Why would anything be worth giving up your life?"

So that was it. Hermione sat back, trying to stop her body from tensing up. "You just...you just think differently from me, Malfoy. There are many things, _so_ many things, in fact, that are worth more than my life. But why do you even care, Malfoy? You hate me; I'm sure you would love to see me dead."

"Do _not_ spin my words around like that. I do not hate you, and I thought I told you that! Damn it, do you hate life enough that you would throw it away? This is exactly what will get you killed today, you filthy little know-it-all mudblood!"

For a moment, it was as though someone had slapped her, and both of them sat perfectly still as silence fell around them. And then, once his last words had sunk in, she began to laugh. And laugh. Even as her sides began to ache and her breath come in quick snatches, she kept laughing.

"What is so funny?" His voice was dangerously low, but even that only served to calm her slightly. When she was able to meet his eyes again, Hermione smiled.

"You called me a mudblood." The smile remained, almost as though it were some sort of honor to be called such a derogatory word.

"And that's funny...how?"

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm herself further. "It's just...it just seemed like you were the Draco Malfoy I knew from school. Just a little bit, but you just seemed like...it seemed like everything was normal. For a moment it was all...normal."

Malfoy leaned back so that he rested against the bed's headboard. "Heh. Strange how being called a mudblood makes things feel normal. If you were anywhere but here, it would be best if you weren't known as a mudblood. But still...I see what you mean. Seeing as nothing is normal anymore..." His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes. "Of course, what is 'normal' to begin with?"

Hermione shrugged. "I would say what we are most used to and most comfortable with, but the latter part of that is not necessarily true. There are many people out there who are definitely _not_ comfortable with their lives." She leaned back against the headboard, only inches away from him, looking out into the room. "Maybe...maybe normal is just a concept made up by the mind, something that we can say whenever we don't like how things are going, so that we can complain about it."

"Hn. Sounds about right. I'm sure there's still more to it, though. We could simply use that term so that we can try to contrast how different things are at the moment we say something isn't normal."

Hermione smiled slightly, crossing her arms over her waist. "I must say, this isn't very normal. Having a somewhat intelligent conversation with I've disliked for the past seven years. You know, I never really thought that _you_ would talk about something like this." She turned her head to the side, looking at him in time to see him shrug.

"There aren't always people around who care enough to talk about something so seemingly trivial. That's not to say that I've been surrounded by people who only cared to talk about the most idiotic things." His eyes opened again and he turned so that he was facing her. "Pansy, for example, was someone who I could carry on a good conversation with."

Hermione frowned slightly. "Pansy? Pansy Parkison? I never would have pegged her for someone who could have anything insightful to say."

"You never took the time to get to know her, Granger. Though, she didn't try to get to know you either." Malfoy sighed, brushing a hand through his hair to push back the strands that had fallen in his face. "Of course, Slytherins and Gryffindors never took the time to get to know each other outside of the rivalries that we had. Can't say that I ever liked many of you, from what I did know--"

"And few of us liked you," Hermione pointed out. "And all those charms and curses and the such that you would use—especially during those stupid Quidditch matches—did nothing to help things."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose and he looked at her mildly. "Are you saying that Gryffindors never used curses on us?"

Hermione shook her head, smiling still. "Of course not. But I still have to say, this doesn't really feel normal. Especially because we just had that little yelling match. You know, if it were Harry or Ron who I had been arguing with like that...I'd still be fuming now. I don't know why I'm acting any differently around you."

"It's because you don't have the luxury to choose who you are around now. There's me, and there's Voldemort, and you have nowhere to run. You are trapped, Granger, and if you shut yourself off from me then there is no one at all to turn to."

Hermione blinked, looking at him. He had said it all so calmly, without any hint of cruelty or any other emotion that she would have thought would be present in his voice. "It seems you thought that out well."

Malfoy turned his grey eyes on her and she felt unnerved under them. "I have."

"That's nice to know."

Malfoy rose from his seat, extending his hand to her. "Look, I have to take you down to Lord Voldemort now. It will not do you any good to be late; as I said, he's in a particularly bad mood. There is a chance that he will kill you. Please, Granger, be careful about what you do and say when you are with him."

Hermione took his hand, letting him pull her up from the bed. His hand was dry and rough against her own, but as she found her way to her feet she realized that she didn't really want to let go. What he had said was right; he was all she had at the moment, like it or not. There was only him and Voldemort in her life at the moment, and he was the one who she preferred to be with. "Is that concern, Malfoy? For me?"

He let her hand drop before he answered. "Interpret it as you like." He retrieved his wand from his black robes, tapping her wrists. Instantly they were bound together by the chafing rope. "Now, come. Or do I have to carry you?"

"I can walk on my own," she said, following him out the door of the room. It wasn't as though she wanted to get to Voldemort any sooner...she just...every time that he had taken her down there she had been barely conscious, or she hadn't been able to tell the details about where they were walking. Today, she wanted to. She wanted to know where he was taking her, exactly, and she wanted to try to figure out a way to get out of this place. Every single little bit of information would help her. Every single bit.

The hall extended for quite a ways to either direction, and about twenty feet to the right of her room was the staircase. This descended for two stories, two stories which she had trouble descending. After all, she was still desperately weak.

Once down to the first floor, though she couldn't be sure about that, they entered another hall, torches lining it an illuminating it with orange and yellow light. Several white-masked Deatheaters passed them, brushing by her with little regard to whether they knocked her off her feet. And then...the door.

Malfoy knocked loudly, waiting for the cue to enter. When Voldemort's voice came from inside—harsher and more deadly than she had heard it before—he turned to her, his eyes narrowed, and cut the bonds from her wrists.

"Remember what I said," he said softly, then opened the door and pushed her inside.

And then...and then Hermione was alone once more with Voldemort. And she knew why Malfoy had told her to be careful.


End file.
